Delicate
by kaitlin.perkins42
Summary: House is changed in a way that no one could have seen coming, and Wilson is left to pick up and take care of what's remaining. Can he handle it? Warnings: sick!vulnerable!House, House/Wilson slash.
1. Stranger in a Strange Land

Title: Stranger in a Strange Land  
Rating: PG  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the recognizable characters. I'm just not that creative.

* * *

At first, Wilson assumed that taking care of a three-year-old House would be easy. He was, after all, well known for his penchant for caring for broken people. But the first week with a brain damaged House sleeping his guest room had proved difficult. House had at least one nightmare per night, and usually ended up curled against Wilson, snoring lightly, the fragility of his sleep visible in his tense muscles. The days were alright most of the time; House would cooperate and eat what and when he was supposed to, practice his words and numbers just like Wilson asked. But sometimes he seemed to remember how brilliant he had once been and grew frustrated. But the thing that bothered Wilson more than anything else, more than the bed wetting and anxious fidgeting, was the crying. House had never been one to portray any emotions besides contempt. Sure, sometimes you could make him laugh, and every now and then Wilson had seen small fragments of fear and insecurity surface in his blue eyes. But sorrow? Never sorrow.

Wilson had done his best to make House comfortable in the strange apartment. He made space for the piano (which was gathering a fine layer of dust), had redecorated the guest room with posters and photos from House's walls. He had even replaced the bedding with House's. But none of it seemed to make much of a dent in House's awkwardness.

When House had been brought home, still trying to learn how to use his cane and reduce the excruciating pain he felt with every step, House had looked around and then stared sadly at Wilson. "Jimmy, where are we?"

Wilson put a hand to his forehead and led House inside. He hated the House called him Jimmy. He had tried to explain, "No, you call me Wilson." But Jimmy had been his new name of choice. There had to be _some _of his House left in there. Otherwise, why were they putting him through this?

Cuddy had given him the first week off to try and find someone who could watch House while Wilson was at work, but finding someone to babysit a 49 year old with the mind of a toddler was easier said than done. On the last day of his time off, Wilson called Cuddy in a desperate frenzy. "I don't know what to do. I tell them all he's docile," Cuddy snorted, but it was maddeningly true, "he has his own agenda. He's well behaved. Really, he just needs someone to give him his meds, make his meals, and ensure he doesn't hurt himself. Is that so much to ask?" He put his face in his hands in a vain attempt to stop his tears. House was in the tub, splashing the water, and Wilson was sitting on the floor outside the open door. He could practically feel Cuddy's hand on his shoulder when she said, "Out of all of us, this has got to be the hardest on you. You knew him the best. Why don't you just bring him to work with you for a few days and let me look for a babysitter for a bit?"

"Bring him to work?" He vaguely recognized the click of an aerosol can and realized House had gotten in to the shaving cream. "I never really thought about that. But he's still usually sleeping at 8."

"So let him sleep in your office. He won't hurt anybody by being there. Besides, it'll just be temporary."

A loud chuckle bounced off of the tile walls in the bathroom and Wilson heard the metal container drop on the floor. He stared at the wall opposite while thinking about Cuddy's offer. Finally, he took a deep breath. "Yeah, okay. Maybe I'll do that."

"Alright," she said, back to her business voice now that the decision had been made, "I'll see you both tomorrow morning, then."

"Thanks, Lisa." He hung up the phone and set it down on the floor, pushing himself up and walking into the bathroom. House had shaving cream all over his torso and arms, and a razor in his hand. "What are you doing?!?" Wilson lunged at him and grabbed the razor, wincing as it cut into his palm.

"I'm sorry!" House said loudly, sitting up in the tub. "I just...I thought...Like you." He looked down at the bubbles in the bath and rubbed at the slowly forming beard on his face.

"You wanted to shave?" Wilson asked, sitting down on the toilet seat, lid closed.

"Yes. Like you." House looked at him hopefully, holding his hands up in an innocent gesture. "I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

"It's okay, House. Just, wait for me, if you want to shave, okay? I don't mind you playing with the shaving cream, but, look..." He showed House his bleeding palm. "See, if you're not careful, this can cut you. And it hurts."

House nodded solemnly, and repeated, as a broken record. "I'm sorry."

"I told you, it's okay. Come on, are you done your bath? You can get out and I'll help you shave." Wilson picked a towel up off the stack next to the sink and shook it out, holding it at arm's length for House to take from him.

After getting out of the tub and wrapping the terry towel around his hips, House smiled down at him, and for a second, Wilson saw a glimmer of his old lover. But then, it was gone, "Thank you, Jimmy." Wilson nodded dumbly before rising and walking out the bathroom.

"Just let me go put a bandage on this, and then we'll shave, okay? Why don't you go put on some pyjamas?"

"Okay." He heard House limp awkwardly from the bathroom and waited until the bedroom door clicked shut. Then he collapsed over the kitchen sink, and tried to stop crying. He wheezed and choked on his spit, gagged into the depths of the sink drain, and felt a large hand on his back. "Jimmy? Is everything okay? I said I was sorry. I meant it." House's hand traced a lazy circle over Wilson's back, just like Wilson did after the nightmares. He wanted to be comforting, but Wilson only cried more.

He choked on his words, "I know, House, I know you're sorry. I am, too."

"Why are you sorry? It's not your fault." House moved to lean his cheek on Wilson's back, while Wilson's breath hitched.

"Yes, it is. Everything is." He said it quietly, so that House wouldn't hear him, before rising slowly and swiping at his tears and running nose with the back of his hand. "I'm okay; I was just worried about you. I'm okay now though." He nodded, trying to confirm his words.

House copied the motion before turning and limping to the bathroom, Wilson wished he would just use the damn cane. "We can still shave, though, right?" He turned his head over his shoulder to glance at Wilson.

"Yeah, sure."

Wilson had House stand in front of the mirror and watch him illustrate how to shave. He wouldn't let House hold the razor today, but maybe in a few months, or so, he could do this by himself. "See," he told his friend as he dragged the razor across House's upper lip, "If you're not very careful, you can give yourself a very small cut. Kind of like a paper cut. It hurts a lot. It's called a nick."

"A nick." The razor almost slipped as House started to nod.

"No, when you're shaving you shouldn't talk or nod your head. You can get a nick, that way." As affirmation that he understood, House didn't move. When they were done, Wilson, admired his handy work. It had been almost 3 years since he had seen a clean shaven House, it just looked wrong. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Well, we have to get up early tomorrow. I'm going back to work, and you're coming with me. You'll probably want to keep sleeping, so do you want to go pick out your clothes for tomorrow now? You can put them in your backpack with your game boy."

"You have a job?"

Wilson had to bite back a mirthless laugh. "Yes, I'm a doctor."

"But you didn't go to work since I got here."

"I _haven't gone _to work since you got here," he corrected House softly. "I know, I was on holidays. But now it's time for me to go back. And I like to spend time with you. So I'd like you to come with me, if that's okay with you."

"Yes. That's okay." He turned and tottered to his room to pick out some clothes. Wilson felt safe letting House choose his own outfits, since he mainly just owned t-shirts and jeans. If he picked a button down, Wilson would just tell him it wouldn't be comfortable to wear all day. Wilson closed his eyes.

_"Doctor Wilson?"_

_"Yes, this is he. What can I do for you?" Wilson rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and looked at the clock, trying not to sound drowsy on the phone. Why was someone calling him at 2 in the morning?_

_"Well, my name is Lori Adle. I work the Mayfield psychiatric hospital."_

_Wilson sat up in bed so fast that his vision swam. "Yes, is everything okay? What's wrong with House?"_

_"He was having pain in his leg. He was screaming for you. But we make an effort not to bring in outside sources if we can help it. He said it was a 10 on the pain scale. But..."_

_"Well?" Wilson was getting impatient with her stupid story. Why was she calling him?_

_"Well, his roommate got annoyed with him and smashed his head on the head board. It doesn't look like there was a lot of damage, barely a goose egg."_

_"Okay, then everything's fine, why'd you wake me up?"_

_"But that's just it sir, everything isn't fine. He can't remember where he is. He keeps asking for his mom. His vocabulary is limited. It seems like the smash jarred something. Did he have any previous brain injuries?"_

Oh God. It's all my fault, _Wilson thought. "Yes, he does. I'll be right there."_

"Jimmy? Jimmy...I picked out a outfit."

"_An _outfit, House."

"Okay."


	2. One is the Lonliest Number

Title: One is the Lonliest Number  
Rating: PG-13 (Man love!)  
Disclaimer: I wish I owned this stuff, then maybe I wouldn't be so poor.

* * *

"Jimmy?"

Wilson rolled over in his bead to find House standing in the doorway, his hands fisted in his t-shirt. His mouth was contorted in a grimace, and Wilson was sure if he could see through the dark, he would be met with bloodshot eyes. "Yeah?"

"I had another nightmare."

"Okay, come here." His words were slurred with sleep and he motioned for House to climb into his bed with the least effort possible. He waited for the man to hobble over and snuggle under the sheets before he ran a hand through House's hair. "When are you going to tell me what these dreams are about?"

"Never." His reply was muffled by Wilson's chest, but he still heard it.

"I don't understand. How can I help you if I don't know what they're about?"

House shook his head and pressed into Wilson's chest. "I'm sorry." Wilson wished he would stop apologizing. It was almost as bad as the crying. House's hands wrapped around Wilson's torso, and regardless of the situation, Wilson's body ignored his mind. He knew this wasn't the same House he had slept with weeks ago. He knew this was different man than the one who had made love to him in an office with a closed door. He knew this was a different House than the one who had broken his heart. But heat still pooled in his stomach and he pulled his hips away from House, trying to free himself from the death grip the man had on him.

"I just have to go to the bathroom, House. Will you be okay for a few minutes?"

House nodded against him and relinquished his grasp before wrapping his arms around Wilson's neck. "I love you." His words were those of a child. No lust, just pure affection and appreciation. Wilson swallowed the lump in his throat as his eyes began to tear up. He nodded and tried to push the words out.

"I love you, too, House." He shot out of the bed as fast as he could and rushed to the bathroom. Sitting on the toilet, he worked himself out of his pyjama pants, _it had been so long, _he felt awful about doing this, about being turned on by a man who didn't even understand what "turn on" meant. But he couldn't help it.

_"Wilson, somebody will hear us." House's body was tensed over the desk, his pants down around his ankles, leaning on his cane for support. Wilson stood behind him, smiling, naked from the waist down as well, his tie tossed over his shoulder, kept out of the way._

_"No they won't. Just don't make any noise."_

_House let out a noise that was a cross between a whimper and a laugh as Wilson slipped a finger inside of him. He shifted his weight to the left and Wilson could see him biting his lip in the reflection on the computer screen. He was impatient. _

Wilson dropped his hand to the side of his thigh and slumped over himself on the toilet. He couldn't fathom what he had just done. Tears dropped onto his thighs and he sucked in a warbled breath. It was on shaky legs that he rose and walked to the sink, wiping his hands and legs with a wet cloth, before splashing his face with some water. What had he gotten himself into?

A knock on the door shook him from his reverie. "Jimmy, are you okay?"

"Yeah. Just...um...just have an upset stomach."

"Are you coming out now?"

"Sure." He shut off the bathroom light and pushed the door open to find House on the other side, smiling nervously. "Why was your stomach upset? Did you do something wrong?"

Wilson bit back a chuckle. "No. No, that means I don't feel well."

"Oh." House turned and flopped onto the bed, before rolling onto his back. "I'm not tired anymore. Are you?"

Wilson put a hand to back of his neck. "No, not really. Too much excitement for one night, huh? Do you want some tea?"

House nodded.

"Okay, but I'll only let you have some if you use your cane to get to the kitchen."

"Ugh!" He threw his hands up in aggravation. "I hate that thing!"

"I know you do." Wilson sat beside him on the bed, and traced soft lines over House's arms. "But trust me, you just have to get used to it, and it will make walking much easier for you. Just try it for a week, and if you still hate it, I promise I won't ever bring it up again. Okay? And if you _like _using it, we can go buy you a new one. You can pick it out, and everything." _When had House ever been above bribery?_

"Promise?"

"I swear. Now, where did you leave it last?"

"It's beside the piano."

"Were you playing the piano?" Wilson tried to hide the excitement from his voice.

"Nope. Just looking."

"Alright," he sighed, he didn't want House to think he was upset with him, "you just wait here while I go and get it for you, okay?"

"Okay."

When Wilson got back to the bedroom with the cane, House had collapsed onto the bed and his breath was coming out in even _huffs_, he was obviously asleep without the sedative of tea. Wilson dropped the cane to the floor with a quiet clatter and clambered onto the bed, slithering beside House's prone form. He tugged the man up so that his feet weren't hanging off the edge and supported Houses' lolling head with his chest. Running his fingers through the man's hair, he let sleep take over.

The alarm clock was an unwelcome intrusion to sleep after days of not using it. House rolled over and groaned, pulling a pillow over his head. Wilson jammed down on three buttons before he finally hit the right one. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he remembered that he had to work today. Shower. Eat. Get House in the car. It seemed easy enough. And the first two portions of his morning went smoothly. But when the time came to coerce House out of the comfort of his bed, the older man didn't want any part of it.

"Jimmy, I'm still tired," he whimpered as Wilson pushed the cane into unwilling hands.

"I know, and you can sleep as soon as we get into the car. Here, help me put your coat on."House obediently sat up groggily, and stuck his arms out so that Wilson could tug the fabric over them before buttoning the front. "Come on, I've got your bag already. I'll just put your shoes on and then we can go, okay?"

"Mhm." House held his feet still, and peered through hooded eyes as Wilson manoeuvred his shoes on. It had been so long since he had put somebody else's shoes on. It was surprisingly difficult. He laced up the sneakers.

"Too tight?"

"Nope."

Then he slipped an arm under House's armpit and helped him stand. House immediately planted the cane on the ground. "That's right, come on." The worked their way to the front door and then out to the car. Thankfully it wasn't cold enough for there to be ice on the ground yet, but he could already see his breath in front of his face and knew it wouldn't be too long before walking outside proved more difficult for House. He helped the man get into the passenger side of the car and watched his head drop onto his shoulder before getting in and starting the car. "It'll warm up in here soon." He was talking to a sleeping man, but the silence unnerved him. Any other time House had driven somewhere with him, House did the driving. And most of the talking.

The trip to the hospital felt like it took longer than it did. Wilson had to park a further distance away from the entrance than House's body was used to (he didn't have the added bonus of being handicapped when it came to getting spots). After turning off the car, he grabbed their bags and then helped a still sluggish House inside.

"Good morning," Wilson tried to keep his voice upbeat as he greeted the admin nurse.

"Good morning Dr. Wilson," she replied without looking up. She held out a stack of papers and files for him.

"Lots of messages then?" He smiled as he took them from her.

"Yes, well you were-" She cut herself off when she looked up and saw who was leaning on Wilson. "Is that Dr. House? I thought he didn't work here anymore."

"He doesn't," Wilson replied cryptically, turning to go to the elevator.

"But then-" the time it was Wilson who cut her off.

"Talk to Dr. Cuddy," he told her without looking at her, as he pushed the up button on the elevator. House mumbled something, and Wilson looked at him. "We're almost there buddy. I have a couch that you'll love to sleep on." _You always used to, anyways._


	3. You Said Always and Forever

Title: You Said Always and Forever  
Rating: PG  
Disclaimer: If I owned them, I would be writing the shows!  
A/N: Thanks for all the lovely reviews from everyone. Better than vicodin! And thanks for not thinking I'm a crazy nutter for writing this.

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"Here you go, nice and comfy." House was lying on his side on the sofa, his long legs bent at the knees so he could fit. Wilson tugged a blanket out the back pack he had brought and laid it on top of the man who was already nodding off. "I'm just going to do some paper work, okay?"

"Mmm." House nodded and rolled over so his face was smashed against the back of the sofa. For a moment, Wilson worried he might suffocate, but then he figured House's body would at least know when it needed air. He sat down behind his desk and started to flip through his messages. A few younger/newer doctors had called requesting consults. There were some adverts for medical journals (most of which he already got anyways), a letter from an old colleague...and...Wilson felt his mind wandering. He wasn't sure why he couldn't focus. For the last few days he had been itching to get back to work – he missed the focus it took to do his job. Then at least he didn't have to think about himself. He was about to get up and go down to the staff room for a coffee when someone knocked on his door. Glancing at House, who snorted but otherwise showed no signs of waking, Wilson called the visitor in.

Dr. Cameron pushed the door open. "Hey," she smiled sadly, looking from Wilson to House's sleeping figure, "Dr. Cuddy told me you were coming back today. I thought you might like someone to come and watch him for a while, so you could get out of the office." He knew something had looked off about her. She wasn't wearing scrubs or a white coat.

"Is it your day off?" he asked, walking around from behind the desk.

"Yes," she smiled, letting go of the door knob and taking a few steps into the room.

"Well, then you shouldn't be here. Go home, be with Chase." Wilson put his hands in his pockets nervously. He wasn't sure he wanted anyone to see House like this. House wouldn't have liked it. Well, the old House wouldn't have.

"It's alright, he got called in for a four hour surgery. I have nothing to do. So, I thought I'm come up here, give you a bit of a break."

"Oh. Thanks. Yeah, I have an appointment in a bit, I actually wasn't sure what I was going to do with..." he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck, ashamed that he had just talked about his best friend – his lover – as though he was a burden.

"Well, I can take him to his office. Dr. Cuddy still hasn't moved anything. I thought I couldn't let go." She toed the ground and then smiled up at him. "He'll probably be more comfortable in his chair anyway, he can stretch out his legs."

"Yeah. Yeah." Wilson smiled at the pretty girl in front of him. He felt a pang of guilt. He hadn't really wanted to go to her wedding – to him they had become just paperwork before more paperwork – but he felt a little guilty now for _not feeling guilty_ before. He grabbed his wallet from his overcoat and brushed a hand lightly over House's back. "I'll come check on you guys in a bit."

"Sure."

As soon as he left, he regretted it – but there was no turning back now. Besides, he really did need the break.

Cameron knelt down next to House's head and put a hand on his shoulder. "Hey," she whispered, shaking him lightly. "Hey, can you get up?"

He rolled over smiling, but then almost jumped out of his skin when he saw her. "Who are you?!?" He sat up quickly, the blanket pooling at his waist. "Where's Jimmy?"

"It's okay, House," she reached out a hand to touch him, but he pulled back.

"No! Where's Jimmy?!" His pupils were getting larger, his breath was speeding up. If Cameron didn't know better, she might think he was going to have a panic attack.

"Hey, it's okay. My name's Dr. Cameron. Wil – Um, Jimmy just needed to do some work. So we're gonna hang out for a while together."

"I don't know." He furrowed his brow and gathered the blanket up in his hands.

"I want to show you something I think you'll really like. Come on, I'll bring your bag." She put out a hand to help him up, and after a moment's hesitation, he took it and pulled his feet up. But as soon he moved his legs, he let out a loud howl. Cameron jumped back, but knew what it was when he put both hands on his right thigh.

"Owowowowow!" he cried, tears starting to run down his cheeks. He looked like he wasn't sure whether he wanted to massage his leg or hit it. "Ow. It hurts."

Cameron hated that voice. It brought tears to her eyes, and made her realize why House had popped so many pills in the past. He had never shown how much it hurt before, and she mentally berated herself for all of the times she brought up his addiction. "House," she tried to stay calm and put one of her hands on his, which had now taken up a slow kneading motion on his muscle. "I know you're in pain, but I need you to tell me if you've taken any medicine today."

"I don't know!" he whined, batting her hands away. "Oh, it hurts so bad!"

"Okay...okay. Did Jimmy give you anything to drink? Any little things to eat?"

"No!" his shout startled her – a small boys words in a big man's voice – "We left the house when I was still sleeping!"

"Okay, just...hang on a second." She started digging frantically through the bag that had a change of clothes for House in it. There must be something here! Her hands were shaking as she unzipped all the pockets, looking for anything – any bottles at all. She desperately shoved her hands into the jean pockets of his pants, but of course Wilson wouldn't let him carry any medication with him. She was fumbling when she ran over to Wilson's desk and punched his cell phone number into the telephone, ripping open his drawers, rifling through the contents. All the while, House hadn't let up a constant stream of noise, although he was starting to tire himself out now. His voice was going hoarse, but as the phone rang, Cameron chanced a glance at him. He was banging weakly on his leg, forehead to his knee, sobbing desperately.

"It really hurts..."he moaned quietly.

"I'm trying House, really I –" she was cut off when Wilson answered the phone.

"Dr. Wilson." She heard him sip his coffee.

"Dr. Wilson! It's me. Thank God you answered. Have you given House any medication today? He's in pain so horrible, he crying and was screaming when he woke up."

She heard him spit _out _his coffee. "Shit! I knew I was forgetting something. My first God damn day back at work, and I forget about him. Really good care taking skills..."

"Dr. Wilson! He'll be fine." She tried to cover the receiver to muffle the sound of House leaning over the side of the couch to vomit.

"'m sorry," he mumbled sadly, wiping his mouth.

"It's okay," she said to him, before taking her hand off the mouth piece, "I just need to know where it is and how much to give him."

"I have it in my pocket. I'm already on my way there. Give me 60 seconds."

"Alright," and she hung up the phone. She walked over to House, who had slumped over and was dry heaving into his lap. Rubbing his back, she started carding her fingers through his hair, he was sweating and crying, but seemed to have completely worn himself out. He had stopped talking. "Jimmy's going to be here soon, I promise."

Wilson burst through the door and hurried over to House, side stepping the pile of sick on the floor and lightly pushing Cameron out of the way. He had a bottle of water in one hand and bottle of green fluid in the other. "Hey, buddy, look at me." Bloodshot blue eyes met his own, and it was all he could do to keep from crying. He was such a loser, he shouldn't be allowed to care for someone. "I am so, so sorry," he muttered, handing the older man the water bottle. House unscrewed the cap and drank some. "Here," Wilson had managed to measure out House's dosage, and was handing him the cup. "Drink up."

House obediently took the cup and chugged what looked like toxic waste before drinking half of the water. "Thanks." He smiled weakly at Wilson, who took the water bottle from him and dropped it on the floor. He reached out and wrapped his arms around the man, shoving his face into the crook between his neck and shoulders. "I'm sorry I threw up." He sniffled.

"It's all my fault, don't even worry about it." Wilson pulled back, trying to smile, and turned to Cameron. "Um, Dr. Cameron," he cleared his throat, "He's going to need a shower, now. If you can just take him downstairs, I'll clean this up and meet you guys down there. He'll take a while, with his leg, anyways."

"It's alright," she glanced at House, who was looking hopefully at Wilson's back. "I'll clean this up, you take him."

"No, I mean..It's my fault it's there, and...I should be the one to –"House was frowning behind him, and reached out to poke him in the back. "House?" Wilson turned around slowly to look at him. "I'm in the middle of a conversation with Dr. Cameron. Can you not interrupt, please?"

"I was just gonna say...um...it's my fault."

Cameron clucked her tongue. "It is _no one's _fault. Both of you just go down stairs. I clean up vomit all the time." She passed House's bag to Wilson, who took it unwillingly. "Go. Now."

So Wilson helped House up, stuffing a cane in a reluctant hand and assisted him in hobbling to the elevator. Just before turning the corner, he glanced back at Cameron and mouthed, "_Thank you."_


	4. You Can't Always Get What You Want

Title: You Can't Always Get What You Want  
Rating: PG  
Disclaimer: Alas, they do not belong to me. If they did, buying a lottery ticket would no longer be necessary.  
(I LOVE reviews sooo much! Please feed the monster. )

* * *

Once House had been scrubbed clean and was pain free, Wilson had again left the man with Cameron. House seemed less hesitant, now that he was aware of when he was exchanging hands, but he still looked desperately at Wilson as Cameron pulled him down the hallway.

"It's only for a few hours," Wilson had told him when they were in the locker room, as he tugged House's shirt over his head. "I just have to talk to some patients, and I swear, it's going to be really boring. You wouldn't want to stay anyways."

House reached out a hand and touched Wilson's face, "But I wanna stay with you."

Wilson stopped trying to style House's hair into something manageable and looked at him, "You will, just give me a little time, okay? Cameron's more fun than I am anyways."

"Okay..." he still hadn't been sure about the idea, but let Wilson pass him off for a while, regardless.

Cameron took him into a room that was all glass except for one wall. There were lots of books, and a TV, and a chair that looked squashy and comfortable. She walked behind the desk at the back of the room and dropped his bag on it. "This is an office. But no one's using it right now. I thought you'd like it in here. There's a balcony outside if you want to sit out there, there's TV in here, or you can just nap," she said, dropping herself into the chair behind the desk. "We can do whatever you want." Even when House wasn't himself, she was desperate for him to like her.

"Um..." he turned slowly on the spot, taking in the room. "I'm hungry."

"Food's easy!" she chirped, getting out of her chair. "We need to go down to the cafeteria, but we can take the elevator." But he had stopped paying attention to her in favour of a photograph hidden among the many books. He hobbled over to it, and picked it up with long, nervous fingers.

"This is me and Wilson."

"Wilson and _me_," she corrected him lightly, because she was nervous. She hadn't foreseen a situation like this one arising and wasn't quite sure how to handle it. "But yes, that is a picture of you two."

"We look...different," rubbing his thumb over the picture, he clamped his hand down tightly on the frame so that his fingers started to turn white. As she looked at it over his shoulder, Cameron could tell it was probably at least 8 years old. House didn't have his cane, he and Wilson were golfing. And House was wearing a cross, so that meant he was probably still dating Stacy at the time that it had been taken.

"Um...that was a long time ago," she moved to gently take the photo from him, but he pulled away.

"I don't remember," the words were empty, and it broke Cameron's heart.

"We all forget some things," she forced out before finally getting him to give up the death grip on the picture. "Come on, let's get you something to eat."

-------------------------------

When their four hours was up, Cameron walked House back to Wilson's office and knocked on the door. She heard a muffled noise from inside, and a moment later Wilson opened the door a crack. "Sorry," he said, "I'm just finishing up with a patient. Can you guys wait 15 minutes, or so?"

"Sure, no problem," Cameron grimaced, trying to push House off of her foot. In his desperate attempt to see Wilson, he cared not what he trampled. As the door shut, she turned to him. "Have a seat on this bench, and why don't you play with your game boy? He's not quite done yet."

House situated himself comfortably on the cushions, his cane between his bent legs and accepted the toy from her. In no time it was making quiet explosion noises, and Cameron found herself with little to occupy her mind. She sat down next to House and put her hands on her lap. It had occurred to her, in the little time she had spent with House, that Wilson was going to need professional help. Not on the day to day stuff, she had found House to be extremely cooperative. But even as a brain damaged individual, he was inquisitive and bright. How many times could memory loss be explained with "_We all forget some things_"?

Wilson's door opened and he ushered out a couple, both of whom seemed to have cried very much in the confined of his office. "Don't hesitate to call me, ever," he said sincerely, a hand on the woman's shoulder. "If either of you have any questions, or just need someone to talk to. You have my number." The woman nodded gratefully and her husband thanked Wilson before pulling her away. Wilson walked over to where House was sitting and put a hand on his head. "How was he?"

"Fine," Cameron answered honestly. "We went and got some food-"

"How much was it?" he asked, reaching into his pocket, "I'll pay you back."

"Don't be silly," she waved her hand to dismiss him, "you don't have to pay all of his costs. And then we just hung out. But Dr. Wilson..." she stood up and walked a few steps away from House. "I've been thinking," she said as she turned her back to the man with the game boy, "you might want to think about getting some help with caring for House."

"Well, that was the plan," he said, rubbing his neck.

"No...I mean...he's really curious. He's been asking questions already about why he doesn't remember anything beyond the last week. Maybe he hasn't asked you yet, but I'm sure he will. I don't know how to answer those questions...and unless you do..." she seemed uncomfortable. She felt like was infringing on Wilson's territory, but at the same time, she wanted to make sure her ex-boss was well taken care of.

"I...see. Well, I guess I hadn't really thought of that. I'll um...I'll look into it," he didn't necessarily look receptive, but Cameron had gotten it out there, and that was what she intended to do. "Thanks for looking after him. I really appreciate it."

"No problem," she walked back to kneel in front of House, putting a hand on the screen of the video game. "Hey, bud," she pulled it down so he looked at her face, "I'm going to go now. Look who came out of his office." She pointed over her shoulder at Wilson before getting up. "I'll see you guys later."

"Bye," said House, dropping his game, without turning it off, and getting up to walk over to Wilson. He enveloped the man in an awkward hug, his cane hitting Wilson's backside lightly. "I missed you," he whispered softly.

"I missed you, too." Hugging him back was easily the best part of Wilson's day.


	5. Jump in the Line

Title: Jump in the Line  
Rating: PG  
Disclaimer: Just a lowly fanfic writer. Don't own squat.

* * *

Wilson glanced over to where House was sitting on the floor, TV remote in hand, flipping through the television channels. One of Wilson's ears was glued to the phone listening for a voice on the opposite end, while the other ear overheard blips of interrupted and aborted dialogue. "Damn it, House," he tried not to shout; "Can't you just pick one show?"

House turned to look at Wilson over his shoulder, "But they're all so boring..."

"Yes? Hello?" someone had finally answered. "Hi, I'm Dr. James Wilson. I'm looking for a therapist for a very special case. Umm..." flipping through the stack of papers in front of him, Wilson tried to stall as his eyes darted over a list of names. "You're Dr. Buroughs, right?"

House was ignoring the TV in favour of eavesdropping on his friend's conversation, focusing very closely on Wilson's slightly shaking hands.

"Well, um, I've heard about you from a colleague, and I was wondering if you were taking any cases right now?" Wilson picked a pencil up off the desk in front of him and twirled in between his fingers. House sat up and leaned towards him, yearning for the pencil. "Dr. Lisa Cuddy. Yes, well, a fellow doctor, you may have heard of him, he was a diagnostician. Yes, Dr. Gregory House. He had a fall, which resulted in long term brain damage. I'm looking for someone who would be willing to work with the two of us."

House reached out and touched Wilson's arm. The man barely glanced at him before dropping the yellow writing utensil into the outstretched, waiting hand. "Me? No, I'm fine. It's just, I'm not really a specialist in these things. I know it's an odd case. It's just sometimes...I don't know how to act around him. You know?" Wilson glanced at House, and frowned slightly as the man mashed the pencil led onto a receipt that was sitting on the coffee table. "This is all confidential, right? Well, maybe it would be best if I waited to tell you the whole story until you met us both, face to face." House was now twirling the newly broken pencil between his fingers in a fashion reminiscent of what Wilson had just been doing. "Saturday sounds wonderful. Noon. Yes, we'll be there at 12 sharp. Thank you so much."

Wilson finally hung up the phone that he had been on all day, and looked at House, who was intently denting the pencil's soft flesh with his teeth. "Is that really necessary?" he asked, reclining in his chair. At the sound of a conversation directed towards him, House spat out the pencil and held it out sheepishly to Wilson.

"Sorry. My leg hurts."

Anything to stop the pain. "Okay, well, let me get you something for it." In the last two weeks, House had become extremely dependent on the methadone. If Wilson didn't make sure he administered it at exactly the same time every day, it was only a matter of moment before House felt the familiar aching shoot through his muscle. A few moments after that he would start making odd squelching noises. If Wilson forgot the meds for more than half an hour, House would be writhing on the floor in pain. Wilson knew that putting him on something else was probably a good idea, but there was no way he was going to back to vicodin, and almost everything else was too weak for House or came with too many detested side effects. So, Wilson had resolved himself to always have the bottle of methadone at hand and administered it as regularly as he could remember to.

Wilson walked over to the kitchen and poured a glass of water before measuring out the medication. House startled him when he turned around and the man was right behind him, eyes hungry, hands greedily reaching for relief. "Here you go," he was resigned to feed another addiction to the end. How could he deny House?

------------------------------------------------

Dr. Buroughs' office was decorated in mostly pastels, which Wilson was sure were supposed to ease people nerves, but they just made him feel slightly nauseous as he lightly pushed House into one of the easy chairs by a window. "Don't touch the window, you'll get your fingerprints all over it," he said, as House's fingertips edged towards the glass. He picked up a magazine off the coffee table – Us Weekly – and handed it to House. "Here, this should fill all your gossipy needs." He knew full well that House couldn't read it, but he also knew that flipping the pages would occupy House long enough that he could tell the receptionist they were there.

"Dr. Wilson? Well, you two are early." The receptionist ticked something off and smiled up at Wilson. "Dr. Buroughs is just in a session right now. She'll be out soon. Why don't you have a seat? Can I get either of you anything to drink?"

"We'd both love coffee."

"Sure. Do you take anything in it?"

"One black, one with sugar and cream."

"Sure." She pushed herself up from the desk and turned to walk through a door, so Wilson went to sit down next to House.

"You want some coffee?"

"Mmm..."House nodded while still flipping through the magazine. He hadn't asked to shave again since the first time, and Wilson noticed that his stubble was started to get past the point of being called such. He reached out a tentative hand to touch House's face. _What are you doing?! _He couldn't stop himself, even though his mind was jittering nervously – just like it had when House put him on speed. He had no clue why he was acting this way until his fingers made contact with House's face. Contrary to the reaction he expected, House didn't react to his touch. Maybe it wasn't as awful was tearing his face away and asking Wilson what was going on, but it certainly wasn't as good as when he used to lean into the touch and place a light kiss on the palm.

Wilson pulled his hand away and dropped it to his lap, staring at a scuff on his shoes. So he didn't notice when House tore his eyes from the magazine, and looked sadly at the loss of contact. "Jimmy?"

"Yes?"

"Are you gonna get coffee?" A question hiding one that his vocabulary couldn't form the words for.

"No, there's a lady, look there she is now." Wilson pointed at the petite woman, carrying two paper cups with coffee in them. She handed them both to Wilson, who passed the black coffee to House. "Thank you," he nodded at the receptionist before turning to House, "Careful, it's hot."

They waited for another half hour before Dr. Buroughs ushered a large woman out of her office, and turned, smiling, to House and Wilson. "Sorry, that took a little longer than I thought. I just need to run to the washroom quickly. I'll be right back."

Wilson nodded. House watched the old woman walk away before turning to Wilson. "Who is she? Why are we here?"

"I told you already," Wilson sighed into his coffee, "She's a doctor. She's going to talk to us."

"You're a doctor, too! Why do we need another one?"

"She's a different kind of doctor than I am. She can tell us different things."

"What kind?" As House leaned toward Wilson, eager for information, the magazine tipped off his lap and fell to the floor.

Wilson bent over and picked it up, dropping it back on the coffee table. "Um...Things – things about you."

"I can tell you all about me. What do you want to know?"

"There're some things about ourselves that we don't even know, House." Wilson looked up, hoping for Dr. Buroughs to be quick about using the toilet. He wasn't sure how long he could stave off House's questions with such generic answers. Of course, that was why they were there.

The woman walked around the corner, and stopped in front of the two of them. "Well, gentlemen, why don't you come into my office?"

Wilson got up and helped House out of the chair. "Don't forget your cane." House groaned. He hoped maybe one day _Wilson _would forget the cane.

Once they were seated in her office, Dr. Buroughs pulled out a notepad. "Now, don't worry. This will just go into your file, and when I feel like we've dealt with everything on here, I'll shred it. No one will see this but us."

Wilson nodded, touching House's head lightly. House had chosen to recline against him, feet planted firmly on the arm of sofa, his head pressing softly on Wilson's chest. He held one of Wilson's hand's between his, but otherwise focused all of his attention on the doctor. Wilson was grateful. He wasn't in the mood for any behavioural lessons today.

"So, why don't you start, Dr. Wilson. Tell me what happened."

_"You made it here fast," the nurse ushered Wilson inside, asked him to take off his watch, and give them his pager and cell phone. _

_"I tried." He didn't tell her that he red lined it the whole way, it was the first time he had ever not been scared that a cop might pull him over while speeding. He didn't have the time to focus on trifles such as laws, right now. "Where is he?"_

_"We put him in the clinic. It's the only place we could make sure he wasn't hurting himself."_

_"Hurting himself?"_

_"Well, he's not trying to abuse himself. But when we tried to put him into isolation, he started screaming and smashing into the door. He wouldn't even let us restrain him, and the doctors said not to give him a sedative. We need to measure the extent of the brain damage."_

_Wilson was following the nurse quickly down the hallway. "Why would you restrain him? You said he's just disoriented?"_

_"We...we weren't sure if he could be left alone."_

_She held a door open for Wilson and he rushed through to find House sitting on an exam table. He had a small patch of gauze on the side of his head, but other than that, looked unharmed. His hands were clasped between his knees as he looked intently at his feet. _

_"Hey," Wilson walked up to him and reached to touch his shoulder. "Hey, House? Do you know who I am?"_

_House looked up blankly, but smiled when he made eye contact. "Jimmy. I knew you'd be here."_


	6. I Can't Smile Without You

Title: I Can't Smile Without You  
Rating: PG  
Disclaimer: I claim to own nothing but my crazy mind.

* * *

House had watched Wilson closely throughout the entirety of the man's story with the rapt attention that he devoted to any conversation he listened to. He was no more curious about the tale that concerned him than he would be about a story regarding someone else. This fact unnerved Wilson somewhat; he had never before talked about House in front of him (at least not since the brain injury) and assumed that the man's self concern would still be intact. Dr. Buroughs, however, did not seem concerned by House's passivity, and encouraged Wilson to continue. "Well," he rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand and looked sadly down at House. "After that there was some talk about where House should go. I immediately wanted to take him home with me, but his doctors thought it would be better to put him in a home, where he could be with people who knew how to care for him, with people who were like him. But I couldn't do that to him. I mean...it was my...I was...He's my friend."

Dr. Buroughs nodded and referred to her notepad. "You mentioned earlier," she said, "that House had previous brain injuries. What happened?"

"I...it was...He...um...He was in a bus crash and wanted to remember some of what he forgot. He had already hurt his head, but...he tried deep brain stimulation to get the memories back."

"You seem uncomfortable discussing this?"

"No," Wilson replied a little too quickly, and House must have felt him tense, because he squeezed Wilson's hand, somewhat reassuringly. "Yes," he conceded, "I am uncomfortable discussing it. I asked him to do it. I wanted him to remember."

"Why?"

"My girlfriend's life depended on it."

"I see." She nodded and the smiled kindly at House. "You've been very quiet this whole time, is there anything you want to tell me today?"

House shook his head and cracked a grin. "I love living with Jimmy. He's my best friend. He takes care of me when I'm hurt."

"Well, that certainly does sound like a best friend to me," she said. "House, why don't you go and talk to Romona, my secretary? Jimmy will be right out."

House reluctantly got off of the couch, relinquished Wilson's hand, and limped out of the room, leaning heavily on his cane. Wilson knew his leg was probably getting sore – he should have given him the medication 10 minutes ago, but it would have to wait a little longer. And as long as he could still walk on it, he would be okay. "Was there something else you wanted to tell me, Dr. Wilson?" Dr. Buroughs asked.

"Well -yes. You see, I'm not quite sure how to act around House all of the time."

"What do you mean?"

"It's just that...after my last girlfriend died, for a month or so...House and I were..."

"Involved?"

"What?!"

"As in, together. Lovers?"

"Yes," Wilson's voice cracked a little, and he found himself blushing. "We never told anybody, but now I'm finding it hard not to kiss him, or just...you know..." his stomach felt like it was on the floor, he was so embarrassed, "touch him. And I don't mean in a sexual way! But just –"

"Affectionately," she assisted. "You know Dr. Wilson, what you're feeling is perfectly normal. It's not at all unusual in a situation like yours."

"How would you know?" he asked defensively. "How many cases have there been like mine?"

"Well, not many," she admitted, "but you loved him. You _love _him. Of course you'll want to illustrate it. And my advice is, as long as he seems comfortable, show him how you feel. When you rested your hand on his head, just now, he seemed perfectly fine. Unless he shows signs of discomfort, I don't see how your actions would harm him."

"But it feels so wrong. He has the mind of a child." Wilson put his face in his hands before running them through his hair.

"Somewhere in there," she reminded him, "is the mind of an adult. He may come back to you."

Wilson's mouth popped open for a second before he remembered to shut it. Dr. Buroughs was the first professional to give him hope. Maybe there was a chance House would come back. "Thank you, "he whispered.

"I'd like to see you both again next week, at the same time, if that's okay? There's still a lot we can discuss, and we'll talk some more about interacting with House."

"Yes, we'll be here. Yes, of course. Thank you again," he rose to shake her hand before leaving the office. House was standing by the receptionist's desk, a lollipop in his mouth, looking around the room. "Hey, bud." Wilson reached into the bag he had with him and pulled out medicine from within. "Need some of this?"

House shook his head. "'m okay."

Wilson was already unscrewing the cap on the bottle when he registered House's reply. "What?"

"I don't need any. My leg's just hurting a little."

"Oh." He screwed the cap back on and dropped it in the bag. "Ready to go?"

House nodded and followed Wilson outside.

---------------------------

"I've been looking everywhere, Wilson. But you weren't joking when you said it was difficult. Don't worry though; I'm sure I'll find someone soon. And until I do, you can keep bringing him to work with you." Dr. Cuddy sat on the couch in Wilson's office and glanced at House who was standing at a bookshelf, running his hands over and over the spines of the books.

"I won't always be able to get someone to look after him when I'm busy, though. Thirteen and Cameron and Chase can only donate so much of their time."

"I understand that, but until we find someone, he'll be everyone's responsibility. If you really can't find anyone, just call me."

Wilson nodded. "Thank you for all your help."

"Of course," she said, standing up. "I'll talk to you later. Goodbye, House."

House turned around, leaving his hand on the books, and nodded at her. "Goodbye." As she closed the door behind her retreating frame, House turned to Wilson. "I'm sorry."

"What for?" Wilson swivelled his chair to look at House, who was now pulling a teddy bear of the shelf, currently refusing to make eye contact.

"For being here." He crushed the stuffed animal to his chest before dropping to the ground to sit.

"What do you mean?" Wilson got out of his chair and knelt next to House, resting one hand on the man's shoulder, and using the other to support himself. "House, what's going on up there? You know I want you here."

"I'm not stupid," he spat, "I heard you talk to Dr. Cuddy about me. You said you need someone to "look after me when you're busy"."

Wilson frowned. He forgot too often how very bright House still was. Regardless of the limited vocabulary and young actions, House was still House. "I love having you here. I love spending time with you. It's just that sometimes I have to talk to patients about very personal things, and they wouldn't want someone else in here. And I don't feel right leaving you all alone."

"I like Cameron and Thirteen and Chase. Why can't they take care of me?"

"Because they have things to do, too."

"Sometimes I hate being here."

"What?" Wilson felt a lengthy conversation coming on, so he sat down next to House and crossed his legs, leaning against the side of his desk. "What do you mean?"

"I feel," House squeezed the bear harder and turned to look at Wilson with tears in his eyes, "like I'm supposed to know something that I don't."


	7. Love Vigilantes

Title: Love Vigilantes  
Rating: Heavy PG-13 for insinuated stuffs  
Disclaimer: Contrary to my beliefs, I don't own House M.D. or any of the recognizable characters herein.  
A/N: Raise your hand and do a dance if you absolutely loved the season premiere. Hell, do a dance even if you _didn't _love it, because it means House and Wilson are back again! :)

* * *

_"I missed you."_

_"I missed you more." House's figure loomed over Wilson, pressing his knees and fists into the bed, straddling Wilson's legs. He dipped his head to nuzzled Wilson's neck. "So, so much. Mmm. You smell so good." His tongue darted out and touched hot flesh before he looked up and met Wilson's eyes. _

_"So we're not fighting anymore?" Wilson asked hopefully, reaching a hand up to brush one of House's short curls. _

_"No," House shook his head, "I can only go so long without screwing you."_

_Wilson chuckled, running his hand over House's back, feeling the smooth skin beneath his fingers. He slipped his hand beneath the waistband of House's underwear and teased at his hips. "I can only go so long without you screwing me." That was all it took to undo the man. Wilson wasn't sure how, but soon he found himself moaning under House, writhing against building, undeniably wonderful pressure in his groin. "Oh, God, House!"_

_"Jimmy?" House looked at him, worried._

_"What? What did you say?"_

"Jimmy, are you okay?"

Wilson opened his eyes to find House sitting on the end of his bed, concern smattered across his face. He reached out a hand to touch Wilson's foot under the comforter and Wilson instinctively pulled it away. His pyjama pants were sticky. "I'm fine House, thank you. I just need to go to the bathroom."

"You sounded like you were hurt. You said my name?" House cocked his head to the side, and frowned, hurt. He put his hand on his lap.

"I'm fine. It was just a dream." Wilson cleared his throat. "I really just have to go to the bathroom."

"Okay. I'll just go watch TV. Are you going to get up soon?"

"Yeah, I'll get up now. What time is it?" He turned to look at the clock, but House answered him first.

"11:38."

"In the morning? Why didn't you wake me up?"

House rubbed the foot closest to him, "You said you didn't have to work today, and we could go to the park, remember?"

"Yeah, I do," he said, sitting up, and wincing at the squelching feeling in his pants. "So why didn't you wake me up?"

"You looked so tired. I thought maybe you'd like to sleep."

"I...I'm fine. Next time, just wake me up when you get up, okay?"

"Okay. Sorry."

"It's not a problem. You don't need to apologize."

"Okay." House got off the bed and walked out of the room, pulling the door almost shut as he left. That was what Wilson did when he put House to bed. House had asked, on the first night, why Wilson left the door open like that. _"So I can hear you, if you need me."_ House was watching over him. Wilson smiled sadly at the thought and forced himself out of bed, to the bathroom in the hallway. He was glad that House was glued to the TV set and didn't turn to look at him. _Cold shower. _As the water ran over Wilson's head, he found himself repeating his usual morning ritual. Thinking about House in the asylum. What had happened to him? How was the detox? Had he asked for Wilson, ever? Did they know what to do for his leg? Sometimes Wilson regretted not going into Mayfield with House. He could have told them everything – made sure House was honest – explained about the leg, and how sometimes it just hurt, and there was nothing you could do. But House had wanted to be independent – do things on his own. _And look where that's gotten us._

Wilson dried himself off and gathered his dirty laundry in a ball, dropping it into a basket, with his towel, on his bedroom floor before pulling out some clothes. He turned around to put his pants on the bed when he saw House in the doorway. "House?!" He stepped into his boxers so fast he almost fell over and had to catch himself on the end of the bed before he could finish pulling them on. He looked at House, trying not to blush. "What do you need?"

"I just didn't believe you." He was leaning easily against the doorframe, hands at his sides.

"About what?" Wilson asked, picking up his pants and pulling them on before looking at House.

"The dream. You said you were fine. But you looked upset. Like I feel after my nightmares."

_Why did _this _House want to talk about feelings?_ "Really, I was fine. I wasn't...upset."

"Liar." House turned and limped from the door way, using the wall for support since he had left his cane elsewhere.

"House!" Wilson chased after him, pulling on his shirt, "House, I'm not a liar! Okay, I was upset," he said, standing behind House, who had stopped in the middle of the hallway, "but not for the same reasons that you get upset when you have nightmares."

"Then what?" House didn't turn around, but Wilson could hear his determination in the man's voice. There was no winning this argument now.

"I had a dream about you." Wilson's hand automatically left the hem of his t-shirt and when to the back of his neck, rubbing slowly. "I...was dreaming about something you and I did very long ago."

House turned to him, and Wilson was surprised to see tears in the man's eyes for the second time in as many days. "I know I knew you...before...I was like this. I have dreams about you. But when I wake up, I can't remember them. I don't know what happened, or why I know you. I don't understand why I can't remember these things!" He put his hands to his face, smacked the heels of his palms against his cheeks.

"House. House!" Wilson grappled to get a hold of House's wrists. "House, you hit your head. You forgot some things. But you're still you. And maybe you'll remember someday."

"Will I?"

----------------------------

"So, how was the last week for you gentlemen?" Dr. Buroughs grinned at Wilson; House was sitting on the floor, between Wilson's legs, making pictures on an Etch a Sketch. Wilson sighed and frowned at her, unable to return her genial smile.

"It was...hard. House is starting to realize he can't remember everything. And I've been having...dreams. I'm glad I found you when I did, because we really..." he swallowed thickly, "we really need your help."

She nodded and looked at the picture House was making – stairs – before looking back to Wilson. "How's the search for a babysitter going?"

"Not so good," Wilson leaned back on the couch, stretching his legs out around House, who shifted slightly to get more comfortable, also stretching his legs. "Dr. Cuddy still hasn't been able to find anyone, and I don't think I'll be able to ask my colleagues for assistance much longer before I start to feel really bad about it."

"I understand. Have you thought about trying to leave House on his own...for a while?"

"What? No, that's impossible."

"Are you sure? Whenever you bring him here, he seems to be very independent to me. Perfectly capable of being left on his own for a few hours."

"I'm at work for 8 hours – that's not a few."

"Yes, but if you were to go home on your lunch breaks and check on him – I'm sure he could manage for 4 hours or so, without you."

"I can't believe you're suggesting this," Wilson sat up, angry, "that I leave a person, who is essentially a child, alone for more than half an hour. This is lunacy. He could kill himself."

The Etch a Sketch clattered to the floor as House reached up to tug on Wilson's sleeve. "I think I'd be okay, Jimmy."

"Of course you do!" Wilson replied, louder than he meant to, his exhaustion and affections getting the better of him. "You're you! You've always thought you were just fine on your own!" He threw his hands up and pulled his legs in quickly, clipping House's leg on the way.

"Ah!" House sucked in a gasp and his hands flew from Wilson's arm to his leg.

"Shit! House, I'm sorry." Wilson jumped off the couch to kneel next to House's leg. "Is it very painful? Does it hurt a lot? Do you want some medicine?"

"I want you to leave." He looked angrily at Wilson.

"What?"

"I want to talk to her. Go away!" he shouted, his hands still on his thigh.

Wilson looked to Dr. Buroughs hopefully. _Help me. _But he wasn't the one who needed help. "Dr. Wilson - James. Why don't you take a step outside and get some fresh air for a bit? I'll call you when House and I are done."

"I didn't mean to-"

"We know that." She cut him off quickly and gestured to the door exiting to the waiting room.

"Yeah," he breathed deeply, "I'll just...go...and you can..."

"Call you when we're done. Yes."

At Wilson's retreating back, House turned to Dr. Buroughs, letting go of his thigh. "Everything feels wrong. I feel wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know!" he cried out, "I feel like...like...I've been drawn bad. Oh no...that's not..."

"Do you feel like you don't belong?"

"No! I mean...I do feel like I belong, just not where I am. Not _how _I am."

"Wilson mentioned that sometimes you have nightmares. Do those have anything to do with how you feel?"

"No. In my nightmares...you won't tell Jimmy, will you?"

"Not if you don't want me to."

"In my nightmares, I'm sitting next to this pretty girl on a bus, and then she's dead."

"That upsets you?"

"Yes. But not as much as the next part."

"What happens next?"

"Jimmy hates me."


	8. Breathe Me

Title: Breathe Me  
Rating: PG  
Disclaimer: Blah blah blah. I can only be witty and humorous for so long.

* * *

Cameron and Chase were standing in Wilson's living room in their summer clothes, waiting for House. House was currently in his bed, arguing with Wilson who was half ready to leave the apartment without his argumentative friend. "House, come on. It'll be fun!" He was holding out a pair of shorts and trying to entice House. "I promise you'll enjoy yourself!"

"No." House pulled the comforter over his head, making Wilson groan.

"What. Is. Your. Issue?"

"What if they see my leg?" he asked the room in general.

At this, Cameron – who could hear the entire exchange from her spot by the couch – turned to look sadly at Chase.

"House, no one will see your scar. See how long my swimming trunks are? Yours are just as long. No one will see it – honestly."

"Really?" House stuck his head hopefully out from under the comforter, looking from Wilson to the shorts.

"Really," Wilson breathed a sigh of relief. "Now get out of the damn bed and get ready. We're leaving in five minutes. You've already kept Cameron and Chase waiting 20 minutes."

"They're coming, too?" House asked, climbing out of his bed.

"Yes! I already told you that."

"No. You didn't." House pulled off his pyjamas and took the shorts from Wilson, using his dresser for support as he tugged them on.

"Whatever. You're so stubborn sometimes. Get a t-shirt on and then come out."

"Okay."

Cameron and Chase smiled at Wilson as he made his way down the hallway. "Thanks for waiting," he said, opening the front closet and pulling out two pairs of sandals – one much larger than the other.

"No problem," Chase said, his arm wrapped around Cameron's shoulders. The noise of House working his way down the hall immediately caught everyone's attention and they all turned to look at him.

He was stumbling along, using the wall to support himself. "I can't find my cane," he implored Wilson.

"Last time I saw it," Wilson provided, looking into a bag that he was packing, "it was in my room."

"Thanks." House turned around and made his way to Wilson's room before Cameron rounded on Wilson.

"What's his cane doing in your room?"

"Well, he uses it to walk, see, so when he _walked _into my room, he brought it with him."

"Let me rephrase," she spoke through tight lips and gritted teeth, "what was _House _doing in your room?"

"He had a nightmare," Wilson explained, "and when he has nightmares, he sleeps in my room."

"With you?" she demanded.

"No," Chase turned to her, "Wilson goes and sleeps in House's bed. It's actually the room that makes the difference."

"Hey!" Cameron turned and smacked Chase's arm. "I'm just worried about House."

"You don't honestly think I would harm him, do you? I lo – He's my best friend."

"Who's your best friend?" House inquired from behind Wilson, startling him – but years of being the man's friend had paid off and Wilson quickly recovered.

"You are, buddy."

"You're my best friend too. Are we going now?"

"Yes," Chase answered as Cameron held out a hand for House to take. "Come on, man, you're gonna love the beach." They let House pick the music on the way there, which resulted in everyone suffering through loud rock and roll. Halfway there, Wilson asked if House would mind letting Cameron pick a few songs, and their ears were assuaged for a short time.

By the time they got to the beach, House was starving, so Chase took him to get some food while Wilson and Cameron unloaded the car. "I'm sorry for...assuming the worst about you," Cameron said to Wilson, slinging a bag over her shoulder.

"I forgive you," he tugged the cooler out of the trunk.

"It's just...I still sort of have feelings for House. And seeing him like this...sometimes I wish I was the one caring for him."She looked as though this confession had cost her a lot – she knew how hurt Wilson must be that she wanted to take House away from him. Yet somewhere in her expression, Wilson saw relief. She was glad to finally get this guilty thought off of her chest.

He wasn't sure how to respond to her admission, so he smiled nervously. "I'm not sure Chase would like that very much."

"Oh, he likes House fine now." Their feet were smacking on the wooden boardwalk as they made their way from the parking lot to the beach, gear hanging off of them.

"Does he know how you feel about him?" They reached the sand and Wilson started scanning the beach for a place where they could settle themselves. "Still?"

"No," she admitted.

"Well, his feelings on the matter might be a little different if you supplied him with all the relevant information."

"Maybe," she replied, "but I like to think Chase would trust me enough –"

"It's never about not trusting your partner," he cut her off, "it's about not trusting their emotions." They were just dropping their stuff on the ground when House and Chase found them. How House always managed to get sauce (ketchup, this time) on his nose was a mystery to Wilson. "Come here a sec." He waved House over and wiped the offending condiment off with his thumb.

"Hey House!" Cameron caught the man's attention before he could thank Wilson for cleaning him up. "Why don't we make a sand castle?"

"Sure," he turned away from Wilson, following her as she walked closer to the shore. Taking his awkward time on the sand, House eventually made it to where Cameron was waiting with a shovel in one hand and bucket in the other. She helped him plop down on the sand, and when Chase was sure they wouldn't be able to hear him, he turned to Wilson.

"I think she still has feelings for him."

Wilson blanched and swallowed thickly, trying to maintain a passive face. "What makes you say that?"

"The way she's always touching him. How the smallest statement about him can completely set her off. The way she talks about him at home."

"Well...I don't think you really need to worry about it right now." Wilson tried to console Chase without making eye contact.

"Why not?"

"Because, there's no way that House is reciprocating any type of love – other than platonic – in the state he's in. He has a young mind. Maybe he still has the physical capability to have sex, but he doesn't understand any of that anymore." Wilson sighed and looked at Chase, who's eyes were wide, his mouth open a little as he listened. "There's no way they'll sleep together."

"I think I knew that. It's just so frustrating. When you get married, you expect your wife to love you. Not her mentally handicapped ex-boss."

"Yeah." Was House going to destroy someone else's marriage, this time?

"Chase! Jimmy!" House's excited cry broke through the silence that had wedged between the two men. "Look at what me and Cameron made!"

"_Cameron and I, _House. Nice castle," Wilson said, getting up to walk towards the pair. A quarter of the way there, though, he turned to look at Chase who was still sitting on the towel. "Maybe you should talk to Cameron about your concerns. It might help, you never know until you try."

Chased nodded and watched Wilson walk away.


	9. Beautiful

Title: Beautiful  
Rating: PG  
Disclaimer: Lucky House. If I owned this show, the ratings would be down, but the angst would be through the roof.  
A/N: So, here I am, my computer's about to die, but I HAVE TO UPLOAD THIS CHAPTER!! I have had no time to proof read, so please forgive me for any errors. I'll go through this chap as soon as I can and fix stuff, but if you're some of the first to read it, you'll just have to sift through the typos. Sorry! (Don't hate me, please...)

* * *

"What's the big deal? It's just for four days."

"I told you already, I don't like the way you act with him."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I don't act any different when he's around."

"Yes, you do! You get all doughy eyed, and you touch him, and – "

"Robert, this is ridiculous. There's no point in having this argument, because I already told Wilson that House could stay here while he was at his conference. I'm not reneging now. He _needs _the break."

"Well, it's not happening again." He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her.

"Fine." She turned away from him and walked towards the guest room. When she was almost through the door, she turned around and shouted, "Don't you think it's a little sad that you're jealous of a man who practically worships you?"

Chase dropped heavily onto the couch and ran his fingers through his hair. "What are we doing here, Allison?"

"We're fighting," she slumped against the wall and scrubbed at her eyes with the heels of her hands. "We're fighting over House, and it's not the first time."

"If I promise to trust you, will you promise to back off House a little?"

"Let's not do this now." She pushed herself off of the wall and went into the guest room to make the bed.

-----------

"You gonna be okay?" Wilson was unzipping House's bag and looked up at the man, who was sitting on the bed, his cane held stiffly between his legs. When House didn't respond, Wilson continued speaking. "You'll be alright. I'll only be gone for four days. And I promise you that we can buy a new cane when I get back."

House looked up at him. "You said that last weekend."

"We were busy," Wilson explained as he took out a few pairs of pants and socks, stuffing them into a drawer. "We went to the beach. We were with Chase and Cameron."

"You still said, 'I promise,'."

"Well, this time, I really do." He finished unpacking the bag and pushed it under the bed. "The day after I get back, it'll be the first order of business." Wilson leaned over to kiss House goodbye on the forehead, but was instead met with warm lips. House had tilted his head back at just the right moment so as to make contact with Wilson's mouth. "House, what're you-"

"I'm sorry!" House shouted, turning his head to look away from Wilson, towards the headboard.

"It's okay…" Wilson consoled him, reaching out to touch a shoulder.

"It's just that every time I say goodbye, or goodnight, or hello, or good morning to you, I feel like that's what should happen." He looked nervously at Wilson's hand before daring to make eye contact. "I'll be okay. While you're gone, I mean. I like Cameron and Chase very much. I'll miss you, but I'll be alright."

Wilson squeezed his shoulder, trying to swallow the lump in his throat so he could talk. "Try to be good. I'll come see you again before I go. I just need to talk to Cameron quickly."

"Mmkay." House lay back on the bed as Wilson left the room.

Cameron was sitting at the island in the kitchen. "I can't thank you enough for watching him. Lisa has Rachel…and, well, there frankly aren't very many people I trust with him. I would have been at a complete loss without you two."

"It's my pleasure," Cameron said, sliding off of the stool.

"I've been meaning to talk to you," Wilson began cautiously, "I wouldn't tell you if I didn't feel it was necessary, so I hope you don't take this the wrong way."

"Yes?" Cameron was unnerved by Wilson's visible discomfort.

"Sometimes, while he's sleeping, House has…accidents."

"Accidents?"

"He wets the bed. I don't know why it happens. And it rarely does."

"Okay…" she looked as though she was waiting for him to continue.

"Well, I just replace the sheets and wash them when it happens. But I wasn't sure if you would want to deal with all that. If you wanted, I was going to…" Wilson looked at the floor, he couldn't help but feel like he was betraying House. He swallowed, for the second time that day, at the immovable lump in his throat. "I was going to ask him if he could wear a diaper to bed." He spat the words out – get them out there fast, like ripping off a band aid. Maybe it would hurt less.

Cameron's eyes popped open a little, and she took a moment before saying, "Oh, no. No, no. No, you don't have to humiliate him. You said it's rare, so I'm sure it will be fine anyways. Don't even worry."

"Thank you," Wilson let out a breath he hadn't been aware of holding and leaned on the cool marble counter top. "I really appreciate you two watching him."

"You said that," she reached out to touch his arm. "Don't worry about him. We've been with him before. We'll be fine. _He'll _be fine."

"Yeah," Wilson ran his hands over the surface before looking up at her. "You'll remember –"

"His appointment tomorrow? Yes, I'll remember. I even put a note on the fridge, look." She pointed to a sticky note, pasted to the fridge's steel surface right above a picture House had recently drawn for Chase of an extremely (albeit unintentionally) deformed kangaroo.

"Thanks." He turned to leave the kitchen. "I'm just going to say goodbye to House, and then I'll be out of your hair."

"Sounds good," she sat back down and Wilson noticed, for the first time, the mug of tea cupped in her hands.

House was dozing when Wilson came back into the room. The hush of his feet on the carpet didn't wake House, so Wilson walked over and brushed some stray hairs off of House's forehead. "I'll see you in a bit, buddy." House's eyes fluttered open and he stared at Wilson. "Try to be good, okay?" House nodded under the light finger tips. "Call me if you need anything. I left my phone number in your pants pocket."

"Okay," he smiled and reached out to grab Wilson's wrist. "Miss you."

Wilson pulled his hand away and left the bed side to go to the door. "I'll miss you, too."

As soon as Wilson had left, Cameron was in the doorway, wringing her hands. "What do you want to do? Wanna go for a walk? Watch TV?"

He pushed himself up from his reclined position. "Do you have any puzzles? I like those."

"I might," she grinned, "they'll be big, though."

He reached for his cane, which was leaning against the nightstand, and pushed himself off of the bed. "It's okay. You can help me." He followed Cameron into the living room and plopped himself on the squashy white sofa while she rummaged through a chest for a puzzle. She finally emerged with a box in hand.

"Do you want to listen to some music?"

"Sure."

She passed him the box before turning on the TV and switching to channel that played classical music. "Okay," she sat down next to him on the couch, and pulled the coffee table closer towards them so she could open the box and dump its contents onto the glass. "I picked a piano. Is that okay?"

"That's great. I love pianos. I wish I could play one."

"I bet you could," she began sorting through the pieces. "You can do anything you set your mind to, House."

"Set my mind to?" he asked, dropping himself to the floor so that he wouldn't have to bend over the table.

"It means…try rally hard." She was still flipping through the puzzle pieces and not really focusing on him.

By the time they were about ¾ of the way finished, Chase came home from work. He had Chinese take out in his hands, and a hesitant smile on his face. "Hey, you two, how's it going?"

"Chase!" House pushed himself up as fast as he could while Cameron kept one hand stretched out in case she needed to catch him.

"Hey," Chase chuckled a little as House limped over to him and, grinning, enveloped him in a large hug.

"We're making a piano." House announced proudly. "A puzzle piano."

"Mhmm." Chase nodded, gently returning the hug before pulling back. "Come into the kitchen and you can decide what you want to eat."


	10. Grey Room

Title: Grey Room  
Rating: PG  
Disclaimer: I got a paycheck today, but that was from being a cashier, not from torturing Huddy fans. (Tee hee..)  
A/N: I wanted to thank **Sibster()**for the idea about the present from the conference. :)  
A/N 2: The monster that is my muse devours reviews. He won't behave and give me good ideas unless he's well fed. Ergo, you guys get a stupid chapter like this one. I tried, really, I did, but he just didn't want it to happen. Hopefully chapter 11 will not suck quite as much.

* * *

"So I'll be back to get him in an hour and a half." Leaving House with a stranger made Cameron uncomfortable, but then, Dr. Buroughs wasn't really a stranger to House or Wilson, and her warm smile seemed genuine as she nodded and ushered House into her office. Just before the door closed, House turned and gave Cameron a small wave.

"So, House," Dr. Buroughs watched him get comfortable in his armchair before she continued. "Last time we met, you told me about a dream that you had. You told me you were on a bus with a pretty woman, and then the woman died. Then Jimmy hated you. Do you think you could tell me about the dream in more detail?"

"No..." he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Why not?"

"I...I can't remember." He scratched idly at his beard and stared at a spot somewhere above Dr. Buroughs' head.

"I think you can," she pushed, "I think you're just afraid to tell me. You know you can tell me anything. It'll be our secret."

He scrutinized her for a moment, judging her sensible clothing and long grey hair. Her appearance seemed to soothe his frayed nerves, and after taking a deep breath, he said, "Well, nothing else really happens in the dream. I can't remember very much of it, honestly. But I always wake up feeling really upset."

"Upset how?" she asked, scribbling something on her note pad. "Angry? Sad?"

"Um...sad...I think. But something else, too."

"What?"

"I don't know. It's the same way I feel when I do something wrong. When I break a rule, or wreck something."

"I believe what you're feeling is guilt."

"Guilt?" He rolled the foreign word around in his mouth.

"Yes. What do you usually do when you wake up from these dreams?"

"I find Jimmy. He hugs me and makes me feel better. He usually lets me sleep in his bed with him."

"I see. And..." she looked up from her note pad to make eye contact, "have you told Jimmy what happens in these dreams?"

"No. No no no." He shook his head fiercely, "never."

"Why not?"

"I know there's some stuff he can remember that I can't. What if he is as angry at me again? What if this is a real memory, and he's just waiting for me to remember so he can be mad again?" House's eyes were turning red and he was beginning to tear up, so Dr. Buroughs decided to try a new tactic.

"Do you have any other dreams about Jimmy?"

"Yes..." he looked out the window.

"Are they nice dreams?"

"I think so." House's tears were drying up and he was beginning to look a little pink.

"Do you want to talk to me about those?"

"Not really."

"That's okay, too. Did you want to talk about anything else today?"

"I don't know." He shifted in his seat to look back at her. "I guess something _has _been bugging me..."

"Mhm?"

"It's just sometimes people talk about things and I feel like I should know what they're talking about, like it's right there in the back of my head, and I can't reach it." He looked at her sadly, begging her to tell him this was perfectly normal.

However, she didn't acquiesce. "House, did anyone ever tell you what happened to you right before Jimmy picked you up, that night at the hospital?"

"I...I fell. I hit my head."

"Yes," she nodded slowly, "Do you know how old you are?"

"49?"

"Yes. So don't you ever wonder why you can only remember the last few weeks, plus a few things in your dreams?"

House nodded slowly, as though he was finally beginning to understand everything that had happened to him recently.

"That night – when you fell, when you hit your head – you lost 48 years of memories. You used to be a doctor. You worked at the hospital where Jimmy works. You were very good friend with Jimmy. You called him Wilson."

"What?" his voice cracked as he asked the question.

"Yes. It's all true. You have brain damage – you've lost some time, but I can tell some of your memories are coming back to you."

"Lost...time?" House slid off of the armchair onto the floor, his face in his hands. His back was shaking with sobs, but he emitted no sound.

"House...we can work together. Your dreams...I think most of them are memories, things that really happened to you." She knelt down next to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

House looked up at her, tears and snot running down his face. He looked so lost, for a moment Dr. Buroughs wondered if she had done the right thing in telling him. He hiccupped once and then ran the back of his hand across his face. "Who am I?"

She rubbed a slow circle on his back, slowly rising and helping him back into the chair, "Well, that's what we're here to figure out."

-------------------

Wilson was sitting on the uncomfortable mattress of the hotel room listening to House jabber on the other end of the phone. His face was a mess of uncontrolled anger. "Wait, what did she tell you?" The man he had slept with earlier slowly began getting dressed. He seemed to understand he was neither needed, nor wanted, anymore.

_"She said I used to be a doctor, Jimmy. A really smart one."_

"Yes," Wilson sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, "You were."

_"She said we used to work together."_

Wilson could hear House sniffle on the other end. Dr. Buroughs had given him the last half hour of the session to call Wilson and talk to him about everything. "That's true, too. Are you okay?"

_"I'm fine." _There was silence on the other end for a moment and then Wilson thought he heard Dr. Buroughs talking quietly to House. _"Jimmy..." _House's voice came over the phone again, but much softer and more nervous this time. "_Do you hate me?"_

"What?! No, of course not! Why would I hate you?" Wilson glanced at the man sneaking out of the hotel room. He was older and lanky with short, cropped hair and some stubble. Wilson always tried to get men who were something like House, but in the end, they just never came close. They smelled all wrong, or their touch wasn't soft enough, or they talked too much. The man nodded and gave a polite smile before shutting the door quietly behind his back.

Wilson focused again on House's voice. He hoped he hadn't missed too much while daydreaming. "_...and then she dies and you don't even want to talk to me anymore."_

"Who dies?"

"_The lady."_

"What lady?"

"_The one on the bus. The pretty one. Weren't you listening?"_

"Yes, sorry, I was just confused. What does the pretty lady look like?"

"_She's blond." _

"Amber?"

"_Who's Amber?"_House sounded shockingly concerned.

"No one. Why don't we talk about this face to face when I come back home?"

"_Oh...kay..."_

"Alright. Well, I missing you buddy. I've got something for you when I get back. Just two more days." Wilson rubbed at his brow and tried to ignore the headache he knew was going to result from this.

"_I miss you, too."_

"I'm glad you called me. Have a good night."

"_It's not night time here."_

Wilson laughed, `Well, when you _do _go to bed, have a good night.`

``_Okay. You too.``_ As Wilson began to pull the receiver away from his ear, he heard a faint, _``I love you,``_, but by the time he had half a mind to reply, the other line was dead.


	11. Grounds for Divorce

Title: Grounds for Divorce  
Rating: PG  
Disclaimer: I don't own House. I wish I did. Then I could superimpose my belief that he is gay on all House fans. However, as it stands, that won't be happening any time soon.  
A/N: I felt like letting you guys in on a little bit more of what's happening with House. So I wrote this chapter. I guess it's more of a back story than anything, but...whatever. I'm rambling now. Thanks for reading! (And all the sweet reviews :) )

* * *

_House sat on the exam table in a thin hospital gown, swinging his legs back and forth so that they continuously hit the side of the table, making the paper crinkle loudly. He looked at Wilson inquisitively, but he was otherwise occupied conversing with House's doctor. The doctor had been very receptive of House's child like demeanour and Wilson appreciated that he had been one of the first people to treat House with respect, regardless of his limited vocabulary. __"Well," said the balding doctor, looking down at the file, "we've run a few tests – I had them do an MRI – and I don't see anything that looks like brain damage to me. I can't see any medical reason why Dr. House should be suffering the way he is. The only real cause I can think of would be psychological. I can refer you to some very good –"_

_"No. That'll be fine." Wilson stood up straight, taking his hand off of the counter. "House wouldn't be doing this on purpose. He would hate to see himself like this."_

_"I never said it was on purpose," the doctor tried to use his most soothing voice, but Wilson was already starting to dislike him. "I meant that maybe Dr. House has put up some walls that even he can't see past. He's locked himself in and can't get out. If that's the case, I honestly can't tell you when he'll be better. It could be 2 hours, it could be 2 years. He may never get better. He has to do this on his own time."_

_Wilson snorted and walked over to the chair where House's clothing was folded neatly. Without looking at the doctor, he retorted, "That's the most absurd theory we've heard so far. House would not just _lock himself in._ You must have missed something."_

"_Dr. Wilson, I can understand how difficult it is for you to hear this. I wouldn't want to think my best friend was doing this. But if you could just grasp that he is not doing this intentionally, at least I don't believe he is. His subconscious held on to guilt for far too long, and the bump on the head was enough of a catalyst that he felt safe acting this way. It's much easier to hide from guilt when you can't remember it."_

_Handing House his shirt, Wilson tried to keep from gritting his teeth. "That is preposterous! Guilt would never manifest itself that way." House looked sadly at Wilson. Although he didn't really understand the majority of the conversation, he could sense the anger coursing through his friend, and it made him anxious. _

_"I would appreciate it if you would at least sleep on my diagnosis. If you wake up tomorrow and feel that it's a possibility, you can call me and I'd be happy to give you some referrals. If you wake up and still think I'm just a quack, you can never come back here; you'll never have to see me again. No hard feelings." The doctor was desperate for Wilson to understand that this was probably the only possible explanation for House's behaviour – there was absolutely _no _medical evidence that the hit on his head would produce results this severe. He hadn't even needed stitches!_

_"I suppose that sounds reasonable," Wilson chanced a glance at the doctor as he folded House's hospital gown. He helped House down from the exam table and scooped up his bag. At the door, he turned to the doctor and frowned. "Thank you...I think."_

Wilson sat up in bed and gasped. Now he was dreaming about events where House was brain damaged? Would his mind ever give him respite? He wiped at the sweat on his brow and pushed the heavy comforter off, getting out of the bed. His flight was leaving in 6 hours, he wanted to sleep more and be well rested so he could spend some time with House as soon as he got home. Missing someone had never hurt this much. But Wilson's head was spinning, and there was no way he would be going back to sleep anytime soon, so he got out of bed and pulled on a pair of running shorts over his underwear, before tugging on an old t-shirt.

The treadmill made a whining sound when he turned it on – it probably hadn't been used since its installation. His feet felt heavy at first, his legs unwilling to pick up the pace, make it to a jog. After 10 minutes, he was running and his mind was focusing on the smack of rubber on the treads. _If only I could sweat out the pain_.

--------------------------------

Cameron was staring across the table at Chase, boring a hole through the newspaper. "You should go and try to wake him up," she urged.

"Why?" he asked, not looking up from the Lifestyle section of the paper.

"Because I've already tried twice. He likes you better than me anyways."

"That's not true."

"Yes it is," she said matter-of-factly, taking a sip from her mug. "He doesn't know that Wilson's going to come see him at the hospital today. It's supposed to be a surprise. So you can't use that as a trump card. Just tell him he doesn't have to get dressed. He likes going to the hospital in his pyjamas. Maybe then he'll get up."

Dropping the paper in exasperation, Chase started getting up. "Really, if I just tell him all the same things as you, how effective will it be?"

"Tell him you have a tub of lollipops in the car for all I care!" she threw her hands up, "Just get him out of the God damn bed!"

Without replying, Chase walked out of the kitchen. He found House tangled in his sheets, crunched at the top of the bed by the headboard. Not wanting to startle the sleeping man, he reached out and touched his arm lightly, shaking him. "House, come on, it's time to get up."

House groaned and rolled away from the touch. "Don't want to."

"But you've got to. Cameron and I have to go to work. You need to come with us."

"'m sleeping."

"I can see that." Chase grabbed House's arm and started to tug on him. "Seriously, you need to get up. You can keep on your pyjamas; you just need to get in the car so we can go. You can even sleep in the back seat, okay?"

House pulled his arm back from Chase's loose grip and curled into a smaller ball. "I don't want to."

"House, you have to get out of the damn bed!" Chase hadn't meant to yell, but it just came out that way. Immediately after, he regretted it. "Look, I'm sorry for yelling," he apologized when House looked at him, hurt. "It's just...I can't be late for work today. Okay?"

House got out of the bed and stood, limping out of the room. He didn't look at Chase as he made his way to the bathroom and slammed the door behind himself. "What was that all about?" Cameron asked from the dining room.

"I yelled at him."

"Smooth." She grinned.

"What are you smiling about?"

"You're worried. You feel bad for hurting _House's _feelings. I never would have imagined this day would come." She walked up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, leaning against his chest. "Don't stress over it. By the time he's in the car, he'll probably have forgiven you. He likes you too much to stay angry at you for long." She craned her head back and kissed him before letting go and walking to the door. "Now you two don't take too long. I'll start the car."


	12. Some Devil

Title: Some Devil  
Rating: G  
Disclaimer: This stuff, all these awesome people? Not mine. I don't claim to own them, even though I sure would like to!  
A/N: Thanks for continuing to read and review, everyone. I really appreciate it! So, I was sitting at my computer and got this idea for this chapter. I know it kind of veers away from the plot a bit, but I kind of felt like doing something a little Wilson-centric. Hope you enjoy! (It was loads of fun to write :) )

* * *

"Hey, buddy, you want to calm down?"

Wilson looked up from his jeans, which he had been absentmindedly picking non-existent lint off of for the last 20 minutes. The man sitting next to him in the airplane was staring at him, a look on his face that was a cross between annoyance and worry. "Sorry." After looking apologetically at the poor man who was stuck next to him, Wilson smoothed his hands over the fabric on his thigh and glanced out the window of the plane. They should have taken off 15 minutes ago, so why were they standing still, not even on the runway? The airplane was still waiting at the gate, even after it had been delayed two hours, because it got held up on its way from Canada. Wilson rolled his head from side to side and breathed out slowly. He caught the stewardess as she walked by.

"Excuse me," he asked her politely, smiling softly, "do you think it would be okay for me to make a phone call on my cell? I know it's supposed to be off and all, but it's just that if we'll be waiting much longer, I need to call work and tell them I won't be in today."

The young woman grinned at him and leaned on the back of the seats in front of Wilson. "Well," she said in a southern accent, "we should be takin' off real soon. But how about I let you make that phone call if I find out it's gonna be more than half an hour?" She touched the top of her styled hair lightly, making sure the blonde do was still in place.

"Thank you very much," Wilson nodded quickly before she walked away.

The man next to him looked up from his magazine and leered at Wilson. "You sure got a way with the ladies. They never let me use my cell phone."

Wilson chuckled a little, "I'm used to having to coerce information out of unwilling sources." He reached between his legs and under his seat to grab his bag, searching for the catalogue he had taken from the conference. He thought he might be able to convince Cuddy that the hospital should invest in some new equipment, so he had brought the catalogue, hoping the glossy imagery would assist in his presentation.

"What, are you a lawyer, or something?" the man next to him seemed less interested in his book now, and much more intrigued by Wilson.

"No, actually, I'm a doctor."

"Oh, so patients keeping secrets and stuff." The man nodded his head knowingly and went back to his book. He seemed much less engrossed in Wilson now that he was _just _a doctor.

"No, I work in oncology, so it's rare that they have much to keep from me. It's actually my best friend. He...liked to tell lies." Wilson bobbed his head before looking back to his catalogue. He wasn't sure what had prompted his admission, and now he was feeling shy, especially when it came to talking about House. Hoping the man thought he was reading, Wilson flipped through a few pages.

"Liked to?" his seat mate asked sadly.

"He doesn't really tell them anymore. He's much more honest. But for almost 20 years, I had to sneak the truth out of him," Wilson told the catalogue, "he was just a very private person."

"Well," the guy scoffed, looking back at his book, "I don't really know if he sounds like a best friend I'd want to have."

Wilson sighed and closed the catalogue. He wasn't taking in any of it, so he tucked it into the pocket in front of him and leaned on the cool window, praying the plane took off soon. The less time he had to spend telling this man about his past relationships, the better. He was obviously pretty nosy, or at the least, just talkative, and Wilson wasn't in any mood to share. Yet, he couldn't stop himself from muttering, "You know, a lot of people say that. But it's just because they don't really know House."

"House? Like the thing you live in?"

"No, it's his name." Wilson berated himself mentally for allowing this conversation to continue. He really should just shut his mouth, right now.

"Weird name to pick for your kid. How old is he anyway? Were his parents ultra modern, or something?"

Wilson tapped his head lightly on the Plexiglas window and groaned. "It's not his first name. His first name's Greg. He just goes by House, because doctor's use their last names more often." In actuality, Wilson believed it probably had something to do with House's military upbringing, more than anything. He had grown up in a society where everyone was called upon by their last name, and regardless of his loathing for the culture, some habits are hard to break.

"Oh, I see..." the man was officially no longer interested, so Wilson, ever the polite man, finally found himself some peace and quiet. The runway started to blur in the window as he closed his eyes.

_"So what's your name?" the scruffy guy asked, grinning, leaning on the counter as James filled his pockets with his belongings. Wallet, name tag, pager, keys...check, check, check, and check._

_"James Wilson," he replied, looking at the stranger. "And you?" _

_"I'll call you Wilson, then," he refrained from giving his name._

_"Why'd you bail me out?" They started walking out to the parking lot._

_"There's always one interesting person at these things. I figure the guy who smashes the mirror because he can't stand Billy Joel-" _

_"I like Billy Joel just fine!" James interjected, "Just not over and over again."_

_"No need to get all emotional on me, here," the man shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and started walking towards James' car. "Mind giving me a ride?"_

_"How did you...my car was at the bar..." _

_"Yeah, well, I figured you might want it. You'll just have to fix some of the wires," the guy shrugged, he obviously felt little to no guilt over hot wiring someone else's car just to follow them to jail and bail them out. When James thought about it, it really was a small price to pay. This guy could have stolen his car and left, but instead he came and paid the bail and then gave the car back._

_"Sure, I'll give you a ride." He opened the passenger side door first and let the man in before getting in on his side. Once the car started, he turned to his new found friend. "You never told me your name."_

_"I'm House."_

_"House?"_

_"Yeah," he shrugged as James started to back out of the parking stall, "like the thing you live in."_

When Wilson woke, they were flying at a high altitude. He preferred sleeping through take off, he always hated the sensation of his ears popping. He checked his watch, and hoped they would be getting back soon, Cameron and Chase were off work in 3 hours, and he wanted to surprise House before they went back home. He thought it would be nice to take him back to the apartment tonight, and tell him all about the conference. Maybe even give him his gift. He wiped at his face before glancing over to where the man from earlier was. But he wasn't sitting there anymore. His book and iPod were still there, so Wilson assumed he had gone to the bathroom and watched for a stewardess to walk by. He was thirsty.

The young blonde from earlier strolled by and her smile lit up like a Christmas tree. "You're awake! I was startin' to think you might sleep through the whole flight."

"Not likely," he joked, "8 hours is a long time to sleep in this chair."

"Can I ask you a question?" she said, resting her hip on the vacant seat next to Wilson.

"Um, sure."

"Well, I couldn't help but over hear you talkin' to that man, earlier. You said you were an oncologist. I'm no Einstein, but I sure know you doctors make a lot of money."

He nodded, not really sure if he liked where the conversation was going.

"And I was just wonderin' what you're doin' over here in coach. Wouldn't you rather fly first class?"

Relieved, Wilson let out a small laugh. "Oh, well, I don't need to fly first class, really. I sleep most of the time anyways."

"Oh, okay." She shrugged and got up, starting to walk away.

"Oh, sorry," he stopped her, "I meant to ask for some water."

"Sure sugar, just a minute."

------------------------------------------

"There is nothing to do in here." House groaned and tossed the ball back and forth between his hands. "I've been waiting for Dr. Cameron all day."

"House," Cuddy looked up from her paper work, "you are driving me insane. Why don't you go upstairs and play foosball, or something?"

He shrugged his shoulders and started bouncing the ball off of the coffee table, "Wilson said I'm not supposed to go anywhere in the hospital alone."

"Well," she urged, growing weary of the plop, plop, plop of the ball on the glass, "I'm his boss, so what I say goes. You can take the elevator by yourself. You've played foosball before. You know where it is."

"Can you even play it alone?" he asked noncommittally.

"I'm sure you can." She looked back to her paper work and started ignoring him again.

"Hey, look!" The noise of the ball stopped, and she heard the clatter of House ripping his cane away from the side of the couch. When she looked up, he was practically hopping to the door, itching to open it. Then she saw who was on the other side. Dishevelled and in a t-shirt and jeans, the man looked more casual than she had ever seen him. House opened the door, "Wilson!"


	13. Rehab

Title: Rehab  
Rating: PG  
Disclaimer: Oh, I wish I owned House. But the stars are frowning upon me tonight, thus, I cannot claim ownership...:(  
A/N: The first bit is just something I was thinking of and wanted to put down. It's not really part of the chapter...I guess you could call it a bonus bit.

* * *

**Driving Home....**

-Do you need both hands to drive?

-It's advisable.

-But do you _need _them?

-Do you even know what advisable means?

-Nope. Do you need both of them or not?

-No, I guess not.

-Can I hold one?

-Well...

-I missed you.

-Alright, but if I tell you I need it back, you have to give it back right away, okay?

- Well...

-House, how can I give you a hand if I can't trust that I'll get it back?

-Okay.

--------------------------------

House was sitting next to Wilson on the couch, leaning his head on the younger man's shoulder, drooling slightly in his sleep. Wilson was flipping through the contacts on his phone, debating calling Dr. Nolan back. When they had gotten back to the apartment, Wilson had first listened to the messages (much to a whiney House's chagrin), and three of the five messages were from Dr. Nolan. He said that Dr. Buroughs had phoned him with some concerns and he would like to arrange an appointment with House at Wilson's earliest convenience. Dr. Buroughs concerns were probably that she had stuck her nose in where it didn't belong. Wilson had liked her very much until she told House about what had happened to him. It had to be a decision that Wilson made. Wilson was the one who had to live with a House who wanted to know who he had been in the past.

Starting to grow angry, Wilson made himself stop thinking about the phone call he had gotten while in Italy. He promised himself he was going to enjoy his first night back at home, and he would deal with Dr. Buroughs tomorrow when he dropped House off at Lisa's for the day. He wiped at his face with his hands and dropped his cell phone into his pocket. House shook awake easily but looked at him groggily. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Wilson said, pushing off the couch and watching House tumble over to the side, he hadn't been ready to lose the support under his head. "Sorry."

"That's okay," House didn't move from the couch, but continued to stare up at Wilson. "I really did miss you," he reached one arm up and stretched it over his head, letting out a quiet keening noise.

"I missed you, too," Wilson walked over to his bag, which he had set down behind the couch when they got home. While unzipping it and looking for House's gift, he continued the conversation. "You had fun with Cameron and Chase, though, right?"

"Sure," House sat up and watched over the back of the couch, to see what Wilson was doing. "But, I mean...it's not like we were together a lot. I spent most of the time at the hospital by myself or in the children's wing." Wilson looked out of the bag before standing up, quickly hiding House's gift behind his back. "What is that?" House sat up straighter.

"Oh, nothing," Wilson teased, feigning an air of nonchalance.

"It's something. What is it? Why would you hide it if it was nothing?"

"Okay, okay," he relented, "I got you a present while I was away. I don't know how much you'll like it, but..."

"What is it?" House bounced up once on his kneeling legs, but stopped when a shot of pain rushed through him. Rubbing the leg, he looked inquisitively at a worried Wilson. "What is it?"

"Well, I mean...now that I think about it..."

"No, I know I'll like it." He leaned forward over the back of the sofa, bring his nose level with Wilson's navel and only about 5 inches away. "What did you get for me?"

"Alright, here." From behind his back, Wilson pulled a small wrapped cube, and handed it tentatively to House. "I guess I could have gotten you one here, but I thought since it was from Italy, it might mean a little more to you. I don't really know what I was thinking when I bought it, I should have gotten you something with a picture of the Tower of Pisa, or something. I don't really know..."

But House had already shredded off the thin the wrapping paper and was grinning up at Wilson, a fresh Rubik's cube held between his hands. "It's so colourful," he smiled, "What do I do with it?"

"Oh, um..." Wilson halted in his rambling and walked around to sit next to House on the couch again. Gently, he took the artefact from his friend, and twisted some the rows and columns. "You get them all mixed up like this, so that the colors don't match, then you try to put it back together the way it was before. So that all the red is on one side, and all the green, all the blue...you know." He handed the convoluted puzzle back to House nervously. "Do you like it?"

"I love it," House replied, taking the Rubik's cube. "Thank you." He stared at it for a moment, as though pondering what to do with it. Then he set down the gift and wrapped his arms around Wilson. "I know you must miss things being the way they were," he forced out, "but I just wanted to say thank you."

"You don't have to thank me," Wilson coughed, still returning the bone crushing hug, and grateful that House couldn't see his eyes watering. "I like being with you."

"But probably not as much as you used to. I know I'm not the same person. Will you tell me about me?"

"What do you mean?"

"What was I like? What did I do? Other than being a doctor, I mean...Was I friends with Cameron and Chase before? What about Dr. Cuddy?"

"Woah, one question at a time, buddy." Wilson pushed House away from him lightly before leaning back on the sofa, and lifting an arm, so House could rest in the crook between his chest and the extended limb. After getting comfortable, he ran his fingers over House's back, feeling the heat of his skin through the t-shirt. "What were you like? You were...brilliant. You always knew everything that everyone else didn't know. You could play the piano, and the guitar. You wrote songs, you loved music. You knew all sorts of things that you learned while traveling. Your dad used to be in the military, so you travelled all over the world with him. You went to Egypt, and Japan...You rode a motorcycle," his voice drifted off and he ran a hand through House's hair. The man's breathing was heavy and even, so Wilson – leaning his head back and closing his eyes - decided to save the rest of the story for another night.


	14. You Got It

Title: You Got It  
Rating: Pg-13  
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Never will. Never claimed to.  
A/N: Sorry this took longer than usual. I was having trouble deciding how to continue. But, here's the latest installment. :)  
A/N2: Not proofreading tonight because I'm too tired - I'll miss everything anyways. I will check it over tomorrow, so if you want to wait until then to read it, I understand.

* * *

"You had no right," Wilson's voice was calm, regardless of the confusion he was feeling. Dr. Buroughs was standing across from him, her desk between them. She stared at him with an odd mix of contrition and confidence, as though she felt sad that he didn't know how wonderful she was. His hands were splayed on the soft cherry wood, and his heart was racing, he felt like he was confronting a demon he had been avoiding for far too long.

"Quite the contrary, Dr. Wilson," she replied soothingly, "I believe it was my responsibility to inform House of what had happened. As his psychologist, I must be able to decide when I feel it is time to take a step forward in his sessions. I felt this was necessary for him to know."

"You should have consulted with me first." He knew she was right – she knew how to handle this much better than he did – but he wondered if she had even considered the repercussions for House and him, the questions, the fears, the anger. "I wasn't prepared to deal with this. He's always been so well behaved and in the last week he's had three full scale temper tantrums. It wouldn't be so bad if he was the size of a toddler, but he broke through a wall the other day."

"Have you considered sedatives?" She asked, sitting down in her chair and gesturing for Wilson to do the same.

"I'm not going to drug him," he said, still upset. House was in the corner of the office, playing with the Rubik's cube. He had already solved it multiple times since receiving it, but he was overjoyed with resetting it and solving the puzzle a different way every time. "I don't want to."

"Alright," she conceded, "It was wrong of me not to contact you first. I apologize. But this train is already in motion –"

"And it can't be stopped." He sighed. "I know. I just feel like I'm fighting a losing battle here. I'm not working as much as I should be, I still can't find a care taker I trust, I don't know how to handle him half the time, and..."

"Yes?"

"And I feel awful for missing him the way he used to be. I still –" Wilson's throat closed up and he closed his eyes, turning his head from Dr. Buroughs. When he opened them, he was looking at the House in the corner of the room, crouched over the puzzle cube, dead to the world around him, and he could almost see his House.

_"House, seriously, they're not going to die in the hour that you'll be gone."_

_"I need to stay here – I can do this."_

_"It's been a whole week. We've never gone a whole week." Wilson walked up behind House where he was standing in front of the whiteboard – scrutinizing it. He wrapped his arms around the older doctor's waist and kissed lightly at the scar on his neck. "I miss you."_

_"I'm right here," House grunted, but his left hand brushed over where Wilson's hands were clasped near his belt buckle. "You can't miss me." Wilson reached one hand down to cup House, and breathed lightly in his ear – his tongue darting out quickly to just graze House's ear lobe. He could turn this man to goo in mere moments. _

_"Yes I can." His ministrations were distracting House to the point that he could no longer read the words on the white board – he let out a low sound that was a cross between a chuckle and a sigh, his hand snaking up Wilson's arm to grasp the back of his head. _

_"Fine, one hour. You take me home you – ungh –bring me back," he huffed as Wilson's hand moved deftly across the denim barrier._

_"One hour." Wilson led the way to the parking lot._

"Dr. Wilson? Are you alright?"

"What? Yeah, sorry." He shook his head and looked back at her. "What was I saying?"

"That you miss him the way he was , but you still..."

Wilson ran his hands over the upholstery of the chair he was on, "I still love him. I always will. I just don't know if I'm what's best for him, anymore."

"I understand your doubts," she nodded, "But I honestly feel that he has much more of chance of coming back if he stays with you. He's surrounded by old colleagues and friends, some of his belongings, the hospital. They can all serve as reminders and may jog his memory one day – maybe burst his 'bubble'. Why don't we talk about care. Are you worried that you're not providing adequate care for him?"

"No," his voice cracked, "I know he's eating and sleeping enough, and eating well. He gets enough exercise, and I keep his mind busy. He's always clean, isn't he?"

"That's not what I meant, I'm sure you care for his physical needs very well."

"Well then, what are you talking about?"

"What are you discussing with House with regards to your past?"

"Only what you've told him."

"He told me the other day," she glanced at House to make sure he was still engrossed in the puzzle. "He told me that he has dreams about you. Some are nightmares, but he wouldn't tell me about the other dreams. I think he's remembering some of the time you spent together during the course of your romantic relationship. I think these dreams are memories trying to fight their way back into existence."

"The nightmares...about the bus?"

"Yes," she nodded. "I think you should talk to him, try to be affectionate with him. You remember when we discussed this before."

Wilson shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "It still feels wrong. I feel like a pedophile – or like I'm using him. Abusing his handicap."

"No, I think you'd be helping him. Just make sure you back off if he seems uncomfortable, things should be fine."

Wilson blushed and looked at her trash can. "What type of...affection are we talking about here?"

"Nothing extremely explicit. Start slow, work your way up. Try kissing him on the mouth, or holding his hand with laced fingers. Remember how you treated you girlfriends in middle school? That should be your starting point."

"Jimmy?" House was holding the freshly solved Rubik's cube in his hands, still sitting in the corner of the room, looking at the pair while they conversed.

"Yes, House?"

"Can we go now?" He looked tired – he probably needed another dose of his medication.

Wilson glanced at Dr. Buroughs, who looked at her watch. "Time is just about up for us today anyways. I'll see you guys next week." Nodding, Wilson got up from his seat, and walked over to House, who handed over the toy and accepted the hand that was proffered him so he could stand. When he had gotten all the way up, Wilson didn't let go of his hand, but instead tangled their fingers together, and House didn't try to pull away.


	15. Lament

Title: Lament  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: I don't own House, or Wilson, or the oddity shop dude. Oh, or 13.  
A/N: I want to give a huge THANK YOU to **Richie117 **for their helpful input on this chapter (specifically towards the end). I know it's not exactly what you had in mind, but maybe just wait 'till the next chapter :)  
A/N2: Edit! Thanks to **Cleavage Queen** for letting me know about 13/Remy, I thought I knew her name, so I didn't bother checking.

* * *

He knew he should be focusing on the road in front of him, but Wilson found it hard when he was having this conversation with House. He wanted desperately to turn and make eye contact with the man, he had even considered pulling over onto the shoulder of the road to talk to him, but the truth was he knew that House probably wouldn't want to make eye contact while having the discussion. His frayed nerves made him unable to deal with the impending temper tantrum face to face, so he continued down the highway, looking through the windshield as he began talking. "So, I have some good news for you."

"Mmm?" House was looking out the window at the trees passing by.

"Well, last night after you had gone to bed, Lisa called me."

"You mean Dr. Cuddy?"

"Yeah," Wilson cleared his throat, "Dr. Cuddy. She told me that she finally found someone who would be happy to watch you while I'm at work."

"What?"

"You know I've been looking for someone to take care of you."

"But I've been good, haven't I?" House argued, his voice cracking slightly, "I get up every morning, I do exactly what you say at the hospital. What did I do wrong?"

"House," Wilson sighed, "You didn't do anything wrong. It's just...well, don't you get bored at the hospital?"

"No."

"Trust me, you're going to like this lady a lot."

"I like _you _a lot."

"I promise you'll have a lot of fun with her."

"I have a lot of fun with you."

"House, please." Wilson gripped the steering wheel tighter before running his hands over the rubber surface. "This is just as hard for me as it is for you. I don't want to not see you during the day, but I'm still going to come home every night, and we'll have all the weekends together."

"I don't want you to leave me alone."

"You won't be alone. She'll be with you. You can do all the things you've been bugging me to do with you. She'll take you to the zoo, the museum, the art gallery – anywhere you want to go."

"I just wanted to go there with you!" House thumped his cane heavily on the floor of the car.

"House, we talked about that. It's not appropriate behaviour."

"I'm sorry." At least he sounded sorry when he apologized, now, thought Wilson. As though it was any consolation.

"She's coming over tomorrow. To meet you and get comfortable with you while I'm there. Then she'll start watching you during the week. You won't even spend that much time with her, because you can sleep in. It'll only be like...5 hours a day. Max."

"What's her name?" He leaned his forehead and nose against the glass of the window, resigned.

"Her name is Rem – You know what? You can call her 13."

"13? What kind of a name is that?"

"You used to call her that."

"I knew her?"

"Yeah." Wilson chanced a glance at House as he pulled off on the exit ramp. "You liked her a lot, too." House's head thumped on the window, and Wilson knew the conversation was over. Silence danced around them for the next ten minutes until he pulled up to the curb and parked, turning off the car. "Are you ready to pick out a new cane?"

"I...yeah."

Wilson got out and walked around to the other side of the car, opening House's door for him and giving him a hand out of the car. He always found House's affinity to locate oddity shops strange, but he was grateful for it now. He knew this store well – this was where he had bought House's flame cane for him. Where House had apologized for calling him a coward. Would House think he was a coward, now? It had been days since Wilson had been giving the green light on kissing and holding House, and still, he hadn't made any move to instigate affection.

The man in the shop seemed to recognize House, but Wilson shook his head as the man made to offer a familiar greeting. So the man led House over to the canes and then walked away, letting House peruse them. "What's up man?"

"He hit his head. He doesn't remember you."

"Okay...That's a lie, right? You're messing with me."

"No," Wilson watched House pick up a cane, smiling, "I'm not." House was walking towards them, now, holding up a shining black cane with flames on the bottom.

"This is one is so cool. Can I get it?"

"Sure. I told you that you could have any one you wanted. You're sure that's the one?"

House twirled it in his hands a few times before looking at it affectionately. "Yeah. It just feels right."

----------------------

"Jimmy?"

Wilson rolled over in his bead to find House standing in the doorway, his hands fisted in his t-shirt. His mouth was contorted in a grimace, and Wilson was sure if he could see through the dark, he would be met with bloodshot eyes. "Yeah?"

"I...um..."

"Did you have another nightmare?"

"I don't think so." House looked out the window, and Wilson could see his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Wilson sat up, worried, and pushed the covers back, starting to get out of bed.

"No, no. Don't. You can stay in bed. I'll just go back to bed. I'm...I'm sorry I bothered you."

"House, what's going on? You can talk to me." Wilson moved to turn on the light, but House let out a yelp.

"NO! Don't!" One of his hands let go of his shirt and flew up to cover his face. But Wilson had already turned on the light and instantly saw House's cause for concern. His underwear looked uncomfortably tight. "Oh no," House said into his hand, starting to back out of the room.

Wilson jumped out the bed and ran over to House, grabbing his shoulders, leaning close to his face. "No, it's okay. Don't worry about. Come on, move your hand." He pulled the hand covering House's face down, and was unsurprisingly met with blood shot eyes and quivering chin. "Hey," he said more softly, "it's alright." Pulling House over to the bed wasn't easy, because he seemed to feel that his feet were made of lead. He shuffled slowly over to the mattress, held in Wilson's arms, and was forced down to sitting position, where he promptly buried his face in both of his hands.

"What's going on?" Wilson heard the muffled question as he sat down next to House, putting one arm around him.

"Well, it happens to me all the time."

House sniffed and looked up at Wilson. "This?" He tried to gesture surreptitiously at his crotch.

Wilson nodded. "Yeah, it used to happen a lot when we were together, in the same room."

House balked and leaned away from Wilson a little. "Wh...what?"

Swallowing, Wilson had to urge himself to continue. This wasn't supposed to happen like this. They weren't ready. They hadn't kissed since that day at Cameron's house, and that was a fluke, anyway. He wasn't prepared to deal with this. Should he just kick House out of his room? No, he couldn't do that. That wouldn't be fair to House – who was obviously worried that he was malfunctioning, somehow.

"You and I...we weren't just friends."

"What...were we?" House's attention was fully focused on Wilson now, his traumatic state forgotten.

"We were lovers. Like...like Cameron and Chase."

"But we're both...men."

Wilson nodded. _Oh God, please._ "I know. But, we decided that didn't matter."

"What did we do?"

"We ate together and watched movies, sometimes we played games or went for walks. You liked to drive a lot. We had sex."

"Sex?"

Wilson coughed and looked out the window, at the head board, anywhere but House's questioning gaze. "It's..." He was at a loss for words.

"Is it what I dreamed about?" House offered helpfully. "You were...you've never touched me like that before, not that I can remember. But it seemed so real in my dream."

"It could be." _Please...please..._

"Are you okay?"

Wilson was berating himself for hoping. He should be helping House and here he was praying that he might, one day, make love to House again. Was that so bad? _Yes._ "I'm fine. Yes, it sounds like we had sex in your dream. Or almost did."

"Will you show me?"

"Show you what?" Wilson chanced a glance at House, saw the hope in his eyes. _Maybe._

"What we used to do."

_NO!_ "I...that wouldn't be..."

"We used to do it, right? Why can't we do it now?"

"You're different now."

"You don't love me like that, anymore?"

"I do. I just, ahhhh," Wilson gasped, unable to express his tumultuous emotions, and leaned into House's chest. House wrapped an arm around him and rubbed his back, kissing the crown of Wilson's head.

"It's okay, I understand. I wouldn't love me anymore either."


	16. Je Suis Un Homme

Title: Je Suis Un Homme  
Rating: Strong PG-13  
Disclaimer: Too tired to think of anything interesting...I just don't own 'em.

* * *

"What?" Wilson pushed off of House, enraged at the words he had just heard. His hands were on House's chest, while House's arms were still wrapped loosely around Wilson's waist. Wilson glared at House, "What did you just say?"

"I said-"

"I know what you said, House. Don't _ever, ever _say that again."

"But I-"

"No. NO." His voice was eerily quiet in the dark bedroom. "I have loved you since the day I met you. I will love you until the day I die. Never, _never _tell me you're not loveable."

"Okay..."

Wilson reached both hands up to House's face, letting them slide over his cheeks to rest in his hair. He turned House's face towards him gently before pulling the man in for a tentative kiss. As his lips touched House's, he felt the stubble he had been missing for so long, the warm heat of his lover's mouth against his, and he almost didn't hear the burst of shock that came out of House's mouth in the form of a grunt. Pulling back, Wilson looked into House's eyes, _please, God_. House looked inquisitive, but not upset, so Wilson dipped back in for another light kiss on the lips, and this time House returned the favour.

It seemed, regardless of his loss of mental memories, House's muscle memory was well intact. He nipping and biting was still as stylized as it had been whenever Wilson had coerced a kiss out of the man in the past, and Wilson felt himself melting in the older man's arms. "Jimmy?" House huffed into his neck.

"Yeah?" Leaning on House's shoulder, Wilson managed to look up at his friend's face, but from his awkward angle, he couldn't make out much in the way of emotions.

"We did this in my dream." House bent over to plant a feather light kiss on the nape of Wilson's neck.

Wilson had forgotten about House's problem – why he was here in the first place. It was probably getting to the point of being painful. "House...did I..." _what do I do? _"Did I...touch you...in your dream?"

"A lot."

"Can you touch..." he swallowed thickly, "yourself? That way?"

"Well, not all of it." House rubbed one of his hands on his thigh, but the other was still holding Wilson close, transmitting body heat.

"I bet if you do some of it, you'll be able to deal with your...erection." _Why is it suddenly so hard to use words?_

"What?"

"The reason you came in here? It's called an erection. You get it when you think about...things like this. Kissing people, touching people. The way to deal with it is to copy those actions."

"Always by myself?"

"No," Wilson shook his head at the sad look in House's face, "sometimes you have help. From other people. But not tonight, okay? You need to go back to your room and deal with this."

"But-"

"House, please. Just go back to your room."

"I don't-"

"House!" He pushed away from him entirely, standing up off the bed, and pointed out the door. "Go to your room! Please. I'm sorry, I just, we can't...do this now."

House looked at him carefully, wanting to stay, afraid of angering his friend, confused by what had just happened. Finally, he shoved off the bed and limped out of the room, not bothering to wish Wilson a goodnight, and shutting the door quietly behind himself. It wasn't until he dropped back onto the rumpled bed covers that Wilson realized he, too, had a hard on. He sighed and reclined against the headboard, letting his head thump on the hard surface. Unceremoniously, he shoved one hand down his pants and pulled viciously at his hard on, trying to ignore the anger welling up in his chest.

A ball of fire was fighting with him, making him want to cry, burning in his throat, but Wilson did his best to ignore it as he gave himself a few more violent tugs and came, depressingly, alone. But as he leaned his head back on the pillow, trying not to cry, he heard a soft moan through the thin wall of the apartment, and felt a smile dance across his lips.

------------------------------

"House, this is 13, remember I was telling you about her?" Wilson was standing by the door, through which 13 had just walked. She was standing stiffly with her coat in her hands, smiling what looked like a forced smile.

"Hi, 13," House was sitting at the coffee table, writing small words _cat, dog, arm, leg_ on a piece of printer paper. He looked up at her quickly before going back to his list.

"Hello House." Her voice came out somewhat nervously as Wilson took her coat from her, and gestured the couch.

"Have a seat," he told her, "he doesn't bite anymore."

She made herself comfortable on the couch and watched as House laboured over each word. His writing was stressed, and it took him at least 3 seconds to write every letter, taking his time to get the structure right. She was having second thoughts – she didn't want to watch him suffer like this. But she knew Wilson needed her, and now that she wasn't working at the hospital anymore, staying away from Foreman, she wanted something to occupy her time. Pulling her feet up under herself, she leaned forward so that she was in House's personal space, making him look up. "What are you writing?" she asked.

"Words," he replied cryptically. _Some things never change_.

"I see that. Why are you writing them?"

"Jimmy asked me to write as many words as I could on here. When I'm done, I get some ice cream." Now she understood the fervour with which he wrote.

Wilson came back into the living room with two cups of coffee and handed one to 13 before sitting on the other end of the couch. "So, I thought we could just hang out here for a while until House is done working, then we can go to the park? Give you guys a little time to get to know each other there?"

She nodded before sipping the coffee.

"I didn't think he knew how to spell this many words...I was sure he would be done by the time you got here. Sorry for wasting your time."

"It's okay," she replied honestly, "I wasn't doing anything else today."

After about half an hour they were ready to leave the apartment. Wilson drove everyone to the park, after accommodating a whiny House in the back seat ("She's our guest, she gets to sit in the front." "But it's lonely back here!"). He watched, from a bench, as 13 walked with House and then built sandcastles in the sand pit. By the time it started getting dark, both of them were laughing together, and Wilson found himself thanking God once again for his blessings.


	17. Love is a Crime

Title: Love is a Crime  
Rating: PG  
Disclaimer: House, Wilson, 13, Dr. Cuddy, Cameron, Chase...none of these belong to me. They're just little pawns in my horrible game...  
A/N: So it's been a while since I posted...sorry. My House muse ran away for a while, and I didn't want to give you guys something that sucked. But the muse is back - so worry not.

* * *

In the weeks that passed, 13 and House had grown very close. He referred to her as his friend, rather than his sitter or nanny, and this made Wilson, to his regret, a little jealous. He wasn't sure why, because House worshiped Chase and loved Cameron, and Wilson had never found himself envious of either of them. But perhaps, he told himself while lying in bed one night, it was the fact that House treated 13 just like he treated Wilson. With the same forward conversation and literal thinking. Perhaps he was worried that he was getting replaced. He had considered talking to Dr. Buroughs about it, but was afraid that perhaps his suspicions were unfounded, and he would just sound like a fool. He didn't want to come off as an immature man who felt he solely owned the rights to House's heart.

Glancing at the clock, Wilson pushed himself out of bed. He didn't need to get up for probably another hour or so – on the weekends he waited for House to come into his room. But he found he couldn't sleep anymore and thought that he would make a large breakfast for the two of them. Wilson's room had always been a very clean place, but when he got out of bed, he tripped over a pair of pyjama pants and stubbed his toe on one of House's video gaming systems. Rubbing his toes, he felt a sense of affection rather than anger – he had his own person to fill his life with irritating trinkets now. When Amber had died, he thought that part of his life would be over forever. Then, when he and House had had their affair, he let himself hope that maybe, just maybe, he would have someone else in his life to fill the empty spaces. Well, this wasn't exactly what he had expected, but it was better than nothing.

When he opened the door, he almost jumped. House was slumped against the wall, his head on his shoulder, breathing evenly in his sleep. Wilson bent down and gently shook the slumbering man awake. "Hey, buddy. What are you doing here?"

"Mm?" House shook his head and looked blearily up at Wilson before rolling out a crick in his neck. "I was coming to talk to you last night, but I heard you talking to someone else. I thought I would sit out here and wait....I guess I fell asleep."

Wilson stood up and offered his hand to House, who took it and pulled himself up as well. He steadied himself against the wall and smiled at Wilson. "I like weekends. I get to spend them with just you."

"I like weekends, too, House." He brushed a curl off of House's forehead. "What were you coming to talk to me about?"

House looked at his feet then at the bathroom door. "I have to go to the bathroom."

"Woah, woah, woah. You're just trying to get out of telling me what's bugging you." Wilson stuck out a hand to stop him.

"No, I really do. Please?"

Wilson let his hand drop. "Okay, but I expect you to tell me everything when you're done."

House nodded and they both headed in different directions. Wilson pulled out a frying pan, deciding to make some omelettes , and turned on the stove top. While he was cracking eggs, he heard the toilet flush and then the tell tale step-knock-step-knock of House's gait. Shortly thereafter, House joined him in the kitchen and sat on a bar stool. "So, what were you going to tell me last night?" Wilson asked, not looking up from the bowl of eggs he was whisking.

House leaned on his hand, disfiguring part of his face in the process. "I was just going to say...um...I like 13 a lot..."

"I know that," Wilson was chopping peppers now. He swallowed thickly as he answered, nervous about where this conversation might be going.

"I mean, she's a lot of fun and we do lots together. She makes me puzzles and stuff."

"I think she likes spending time with you, too." Wilson felt as though someone had dropped a weight in the pit of his stomach. What was House going to say next? "_So I decided I want to move in with her"? "I love her"? "I like her better than you"?_ He was sure whatever House said next, he wasn't going to like it.

"But, I miss seeing you during the week. I hate that you're always at work and I'm always here."

"What?" In Wilson's surprise, he let the knife slip and almost cut himself. Shakily, he resumed dicing the peppers, but was more careful this time.

"Well, I was just wondering...if maybe...I could go to work with you sometimes? Not all the time!" House almost shouted, trying to defend his argument, "but maybe once a week or something. "

Wilson picked up the cutting board and tipped the peppers into the bowl of eggs. "I think we could do that. I'll talk to Dr. Cuddy, okay?" House nodded and rubbed at his leg absentmindedly. When Wilson turned around to get an onion, he noticed the seemingly innocuous action. "I'll get you some medicine. You haven't had any since last night, have you? Your leg must really be hurting."

"Yeah." House nodded in agreement and accepted the small cup of fluid gratefully, downing it in one efficient shot. He didn't even ask for water afterwards. They spent the rest of the morning in near silence, just enjoying each other's company. When the newspaper smack against the door, Wilson went to get it and flipped through to find the comics, handing them to House. He had imagined, once, what it would be like to sit and read the paper with House. It had been something like this – dirty breakfast dishes between them, cold coffee forgotten, their hands linked amiably on the table. But in his imagination, House hadn't read the comics...


	18. The Maker Makes

Title: The Maker Makes  
Rating: G  
Disclaimer: They aren't mine - unless you count the crazy old couple and the stupid cashier...no copyright infringement intended. I swear!

* * *

"House, come here! You're gonna love this, I just know it." 13 trotted over to where House was looking into the aquarium of small lizards and tugged on his hand, pulling him away.

"What is it?"

"It's so cool. It's snake that's huge. It's almost 5 times your height."

House limped hurriedly along beside 13, his eyes wide with anticipation. "I didn't even know there were snakes that big," he told her.

"Well this one," she said as they arrived at the display, "is called an anaconda. It's one of the biggest breeds of snake in the world. Look." She pointed into its cage where it lay coiled in a large circle. House leaned over the small railing, trying to press his face up against the glass while 13 read the plaque. "Listen to this," she said, while House pressed his hips into the metal bar, trying his best to touch the window. "This thing is 30 feet long. It could eat you, Jimmy, Cameron, Chase, and me. And still have room to snack on Dr. Cuddy."

House let out a clipped laugh and turned away from the snake, smiling. "Gross. That is so cool."

"I thought you might like it." She took his hand and led him away from the snake. "Are you hungry? We've been at the zoo all day. Do you want something to eat?"

"Yeah. And my leg kind of hurts."

The cafeteria wasn't too busy because the zoo wasn't such a popular destination when it was chilly outside – museums and science centers were the field trip destinations of choice for most schools. But 13 thought that House might be better off with smaller crowds, and so she chose the zoo. She knew he wouldn't mind being inside most of the time. When House promised not to leave their table while she got the food, 13 went to stand in line behind a squat older woman who was with her husband. Chicken wings or a burger? 13 was trying to decide what to eat, and what to get for House. She was pretty sure he would eat whatever she put in front of him, but she wanted him to have a good time.

So focused on the food options, 13 didn't notice that the line in front of her was moving up. In her haste to close the gap, she accidently bumped into the woman in front of her. "Oh, I'm so sorry."

"That's alright dear." The woman turned around smiling but when she saw who had jostled her, the smile faded into a frown. "Oh."

Confused, 13 tried to remember this woman's face – but couldn't place it. "Sorry, do I know you?"

"No, you don't."

"Did I do something wrong?"

"You're the young lady who's here with that older man, aren't you? The one with the cane?"

"Oh no, did he do something? Whatever it is, I can pay for it, or fix it. He'll apologize, I'm sure he just didn't know what he was doing..." 13 tried to recall letting House out of her sight. She had taken two minutes in the bathroom, but when she had come out he had been on the exact same bench she had left him on.

"He didn't do anything. But don't you think he's...a little...old for you?"

"What?" It took a moment, but 13 finally processed what the woman was asking. "Oh, no. We're not here on a date. He's not...we're not...no."

"I saw you holding hands. It's a little silly to be so open about your relationship in a public place and then lie to total stranger about it." The woman turned away, clearly disgusted and not trying to hide it.

"I'm just watching him, for a friend. He's...sick."

"Looks fine to me," the woman's husband chimed in, his voice gruff.

"He's..." _Ill? Handicapped? A moron? Fucked up? _"He's suffered from extensive brain damage."

The woman turned around and scrutinized 13 again before softening her glare. "I'm sorry, it wasn't my place."

13 shook her head. "No, you're right, it wasn't." The food was far more expensive than was morally right, but 13 pulled out the checking card Wilson had given her to pay for House's costs and paid the cashier before walking over to where House was still sitting, coloring a picture of a dinosaur. "Sorry that took so long," she said, setting down the food, "the cashiers must not know how to add, or something."

House looked up, shrugging his shoulders, "That's okay. I can't add."

* * *

The day had worn both of them out, and when they got home from the zoo, 13 decided it was a great time to take a nap. House didn't argue, but climbed into Wilson's bed and promptly fell asleep, snuggling one of the pillows as though it were a teddy bear. 13 made herself comfortable on the couch and nodded off as well. The opening of a door woke her some time later.

"Hey, long day?" Wilson was hovering over her, his coat and keys in his hands.

"Yeah," she sat up, rubbing her eyes and yawning. "We went to the zoo. House was tired, so we both went to sleep. Sorry."

"That's okay," he dropped his coat on the back of the couch and tossed his keys onto the coffee table before walking down the hallway. "Is he in his room?"

"No," 13 pushed herself off the couch, "he went to sleep in your bed. I figured you wouldn't mind." She heard Wilson shifting around bedding before going leaving the bedroom and opening the bathroom door. "He still asleep?" she asked, craning her neck to try and see Wilson.

But he saved her the trouble, exiting the bathroom before answering her. "No," he said in a pinched voice, "He's gone."


	19. Der Schöne Mensch

Title: Der Schöne Mensch  
Rating: PG  
Disclaimer: I don't own them. I just don't.  
A/N: **Somebody** complained about the length of chapters. So I thought I'd gift you with something a lil' longer this evening. Hope you enjoy. :)

* * *

"Gone?" 13 stood up so quickly she almost lost her balance and had to hold on to the couch to stop herself from falling over. "Where would he have gone _to_? How did he get anywhere? I would have heard him." She frantically walked towards Wilson's room and pushed past the man looking at the unmade bed – searching for House. She fruitlessly hoped that Wilson had missed something.

"I don't know," he answered her, leaning his back against the wall. "You woke up when I came in, I don't know why you didn't wake up when he left. I wondered why you left the door unlocked." He ran a hand through his hair before pushing off the wall and walking over to the foyer picking up his coat.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to look for him. I need you to call Cameron, Chase, Lisa and Foreman. Ask them to look anywhere they can think he might be. You stay here and call the police. Tell them he's missing. Wait here in case he comes home. I'll keep my cell phone on me."

"Foreman?"

"Seriously? House is missing and you're worried about Foreman?"

"No, it's just...he doesn't know him very well...does he?"

Wilson shrugged and pulled on his coat before picking up his keys, "We can use all the help we can get right now." He turned and walked out the door, leaving 13 to carry out his orders.

She picked up the phone with shaking fingers and started to dial 911.

"_911. What is your emergency?"_

"I need to report a missing person."

"_You need to call the local police hotline for that miss. Their number is 609-924-4141."_

13 sighed and thanked the woman before hanging up, trying hard not to let herself cry. This was all her fault. She shouldn't have gone to sleep – when Wilson hired her, he explained that watching House was a full time job, and she would have to be on her guard all the time. _He must be so disappointed._

"_Princeton police department. How may I direct your call?"_

_"_I need to report a missing person."

"_Just one moment miss."_

The hold music made 13 want to rip out her hair. Missing people were important, too. But everyone seemed to treating this as though they had all the time in the world to waste. Finally someone picked up.

"_Missing persons department."_

"Yes. Hello. I need to report a missing person." Well that was stupid. If 13 had been on the other end she would have rolled her eyes. But she was worried and desperate – hopefully the other person understood that.

"_Mhm. Well, usually we only file them if a minor has been missing for more than 24 hours. Is that the case?"_

_"_Um...no. He's not a minor and he hasn't been missing for more than 24 hours, but-"

"_You see the thing is," _the quiet voice cut her off, "_adults are perfectly capable of making their own decisions. Might have just decided they were done with life and run off, so to speak. And if it's been less than 24 hours..."_

_"_That's just the thing, though," 13 insisted, "he's the age of an adult, but he's mentally handicapped. He's got the mental capacity of a child. He suffers from extreme pain, and could be anywhere right now. We don't know what could be happening to him. Please, you have to-" 13 cut herself off. Going into hysterics over the phone would not help right now. She took a deep breath and changed her tactic. "This is a very special case."

"_Well, it's a pretty slow night here. I'll send someone out to talk to you. What's the address?"_

"Hold on a second." Although she had driven to the house multiple times, she wasn't exactly sure of the address. She walked over to a small table Wilson had by the door and looked for some mail. The address was on the top of a phone bill. "Okay, it's Apartment 2B, 1000 Jamie Brooks Lane."

"_Someone should be over there in about 15 minutes. Can you wait outside so that they know where to go?"_

"Sure."

_"Thank you, miss."_

"Mmm..Thank you." 13 nodded even though the man on the other end couldn't see her, and then hung up the phone. She would just take her cell outside and call everyone, she figured, as she put her coat on and headed out the door.

* * *

The last time Wilson recalled driving this erratically was when Mayfield had phoned him, worried about House's bang on the head. He was swerving in traffic, cutting off other people, trying to beat red lights. He almost caused a few accidents, but couldn't find it in himself to care. Of course the hospital was the first place he thought of, but he figured it would have taken House far too long to walk there, and beside, that where Cuddy probably was, so she could check there. He shouldn't waste the time. He tried to remember all of House's old haunts, hoping that maybe he would find him at one of those – a memory might send House somewhere, even if House didn't know why.

* * *

"Oh God! Robert! Fuck, fuck, fuck yes!!" Cameron's hands grappled over Chase's back, her head thrown back, her hair dangling in the sink. She had decided that the kitchen was, by far, the best place to have sex. But of course, there were still so many places left to try. She was just about to let out her soft moan that meant she was ready, when the phone rang.

"Just ignore it," Chase grunted into her chest, canting his hips in rhythm with hers.

"What if it's work?"

"We're only gonna be..."he shuddered, "a minute." He nipped lightly at her shoulder and let out a low moan.

"What if it's Wilson?" She was obviously not focusing on him. She picked up the phone off the cradle and pressed the talk button.

Chase let himself finish, and she twisted around him, before he dropped his hands, defeated. _How can she just turn it off like that?_

"What? How could that happen? We'll definitely help. We'll go right now. No, don't worry at all." Clicking the off button, she looked at Chase. "Well, be glad you finished. We have to go look for House."

"I'm sorry?" He pushed himself off of her and tugged off the condom, tying it shut before opening a cupboard and tossing it into the trash can.

"Yeah," she said, picking up their clothes from the floor and tossing him his jeans. "13 just called. Said they took a nap and when she woke up he was gone. Wilson's looking for him right now."

Chase shimmied into his pants, not worrying about his underwear and pulled on his sweater. "Shit," he glanced at his wife before grabbing his car keys off the counter top. "Well, I'll go west, you go east?"

"Sure."

* * *

The bar was grungy and filthy. Wilson would never understand why House had picked places like this. Places that made your feet feel like they were sticking to the floor. He had just stepped in the door and was glancing around for a tall man with a cane when a petite woman sidled up to him, a tray of drinks balanced precariously on her hand. "Hey, sweety. Can I get you something to drink tonight?"

Distractedly, he looked down at her. "Um, no, thank you. I'm just looking," he scanned the bar to prove his point, "for an older man. He's fairly tall, greying hair, beard, has a cane. Have you seen him?"

"I think he was in here a bit ago, baby doll. But he left with some other fellows about 45 minutes or so ago. I don't think he knew 'em."

"No," Wilson sighed, "I don't think so either. Thank you." He turned and left the bar. What now?

* * *

It had been a long time since Foreman had found himself sleeping next to another being. Of course, he didn't really count this as much, but the body heat was worth something, and he certainly appreciated the soft feeling. Still, a dog wasn't as much comfort as a girlfriend. But he had gotten the stray from the pound a month ago, and had found it to be a great relief on all those lonesome nights – when he remembered what things were like before he took over House's job - before he fired his girlfriend. He was startled from his half sleep when the phone rang – but he supposed he couldn't be angry, it was pretty early after all. But most people do know that doctors keep odd hours. He checked the caller ID before flicking the cell open and was surprised to see the name "Sugar Cake" come up. 13 had added herself under the pseudonym as a joke once, and he had never gotten around to deleting it.

"Hello?" He knew she wouldn't call unless it was important, so he could bring himself to ignore the call.

_"Eric? Foreman?"_ She cleared her throat.

"Yeah?"

_"I'm...I'm sorry to bug you."_

"It's okay," the dog mumbled in her sleep, and he stroked her back.

_"But House has gone missing. We need some help looking for him."_

He leaned back against the headboard. "House? I've barely talked to the guy since...well, I mean, I don't know him anymore. What help will I be?"

"_You'll be...I don't know. You'll be another pair of eyes. Wilson asked me to call you._"

"Who else have you called?" he asked, but he was already getting out of bed, pushing the whining dog away gently.

_"Chase and Cameron, and the police. I'm just about to call Dr. Cuddy."_

"You should be fine without me." He really just wanted to sleep.

_"I know it's a__sking a lot," _she pleaded, "_but we could really use your help. Anywhere you might look."_

"Okay, okay," he pushed himself out of bed. "Where is everyone else looking?"

"_Well, I'm sure Wilson's going anywhere he can think of. Chase and Cameron are kind of grasping at straws. And I'm going to ask Cuddy to stay at the hospital, in case he goes there."_

"I guess I'll drive around and look for him. Bus routes and stuff."

_"Thank you so much."_

_"_Sure." He pulled the phone away from his ear and was about to hang up before he thought of something else. "Hey, you still there?"

"_Yeah, why?"_

"You owe me. Big time."

"_I know."_

* * *

Wilson had sat in his car, the key sitting in the ignition, for 15 minutes trying to decide where to go, before he finally decided to go back into the bar and ask the small waitress if she knew where the men had taken House. He was worried sick. When he got out of the car, it was all he could do to keep from throwing up. What interest did these men have in House? Were they beating him up? Abusing him? Using him? _Killing _him? Wilson swallowed. _You can't think like that. That's dangerous. Be positive._

He pushed the door open and stepped in the hole again, walking up to the bar. The little lady turned around. "Oh, hey baby. Decided not to worry about your friend after all?" She smiled brightly at him.

"No, I'm still worried. I just don't know where to go from here. Do you know where those guys took him?"

"Not sure," she said, taking down a glass and filling it with some beer from a tap. "They said something about some party or another, but to be honest, I wasn't really listening."

"Oh, alright, well thanks anyways." He started to push away from the bar when she stopped him.

"Hold on a second. I think my brother might be friends with one of them. Let me call him up real quick and see if he knows about any parties tonight or anything."

* * *

Cuddy had intended to go home early that night – she had even told the sitter to expect her early. But she had stayed late, forced to go over some paper work regarding a law suit from a few years ago. She despised paper work just as much as the next hospital administrator, but didn't trust her secretary with it – not after the great "missing-medical-file" incident of last month.

She had called the sitter and begged her to stay late, promised double time for the rest of the night. Told her she could order any take out she wanted, watch any movie on demand, have her boyfriend over, whatever. Thankfully bribery worked with most people, and Cuddy had earned herself a night of work. When the phone rang, she worried it might be about Rachel. But she answered it without looking. "Dr. Lisa Cuddy."

_"Dr. Cuddy." _13's voice caught her off guard, "_I wasn't sure if you would still be in your office or not. I'm glad you haven't left work yet."_

"I'm not," Cuddy moaned. "What can I do for you Dr. Hadley?"

_"House is missing."_

"I'm sorry?"

_"House. We were...both asleep. He woke up and left without telling me. We don't know where he is... doctors Wilson, Chase, Cameron, and Foreman are looking for him. I'm just waiting for the police now. I was wondering if you could keep an eye out at the hospital?"_

"Certainly. I'll let all of the staff working know that they need to be watching for him."

_"Thank you."_

* * *

Calling everyone had occupied 13 for a total of 17 minutes. And the police still weren't there. She was sure that they were taking their time getting there, obviously not worried about a missing, middle aged man. She rubbed her arms, feeling the chill of shock set in, and looked down the street. Finally, she saw a white car with (unlit) lights coming up the drive. She sighed and waved at them, waited for them to park and showed the officers upstairs.

"When did the person go missing?" The officer with a memo pad looked sceptically at 13, who sat nervously on the couch, and blanket wrapped around her body.

"I'm not sure. I was asleep. I noticed that he was missing about 30 minutes ago, but we went to sleep over 4 hours ago, so it could have been any time in there."

"Do you know where he might be? Did he have any reason to go?"

"No. And no. We hadn't fought, or anything. We went to the zoo today. He was exhausted. We both were. We decided to relax until his...friend got home."

"Can you explain the living situation, miss?"

"He's a man in his late 40s or early 50s – I'm not sure. He suffered from extensive brain damage a few months ago. The man he's living with was and is his best friend and care taker. I'm the sitter during the day."

"Okay..." the second cop answered while the one with the memo pad scribbled away fiercely. "Do you know if the two men have argued recently?"

"I don't think so. Like I said, he seemed perfectly happy all day. I don't know what would have driven him to leave without telling me."

"Do you have any pictures of him?"

"Um...I don't...know. Can I call someone quickly, and find out?"

"Sure." Both of the police started to look around the living room while 13 dialled Wilson's number.

"_Dr. Wilson."_

_"_Wilson – I need a picture of House for the police."

_"A recent one?"_

"I'm sure that would be best."

"_I've got one from the Christmas party last year. It's under his bed in a shoebox labelled 'family stuff'."_

"Have you found anything out yet?"

_"Sort of. I'll tell you when I know anything concrete."_

"Okay. Thanks."

* * *

"I called my brother."

"And?"

"He says that there was this big party at some frat house. But that's all he heard about. These guys looked about the right age for that – college kids, you know? It's called Alpha Delta Phi. You heard of it?"

"Nope," he shook his head.

"Alright, lemme write down the address for you. It'll take about 20 minutes to get there from here."

* * *

"Dr. Cuddy?"

"Yes?"

"You asked us to keep an eye open for House?"

"Yes. Have you seen him?"

"No, but the emergency just got a call from dispatch. Middle aged man, seizures, vomiting and incoherent speech. Do you think that might be him? They said they'll be here in 5."

Cuddy pushed herself away from her desk. "I'll come and wait with you."


	20. Ameno

Title: Ameno  
Rating: PG  
Disclaimer: I don't claim to own anybody or anything. I'm just a poor, poor kid.  
A/N: So, I was re-reading chapter 19 after fixing the title (huge thank you to **indigo_inferno** on LJ for letting me know), and there were far too many mistakes. I'm conceding the fact that I may need a beta. After almost seven years of doing it on my own, I don't know if I'm ready to go to the dark side...maybe more coffee will suffice? Anywho, here's a new chapter. Not quite as long as the last one, but still longer than the average chapter for a gal like me. :)

* * *

The road ahead was long and fairly straight, and there were very few cars for this time of the night. Wilson watched it fiercely, as though he was worried it might drop away if he didn't keep an eye on it. After the bar maid had given him the address of the frat house, he had bolted from the bar and gunned the engine, getting out of there as fast as physics would let him. Stopped at a red light, he felt his heart beating a fast rhythm in his chest, and felt a tightening in his throat that he couldn't really ignore. Wilson swiped the back of his fist across his eyes, it wouldn't do to cry now: he wouldn't be able to see the road. His cell phone started ringing, and he fumbled through his pockets, trying to find the modern piece of technology that was emitting the obnoxious ring tone.

"Hello?"

_"Wilson, it's me."_

"Lisa, is he there?"

_"Well, yes..." _Her answer wasn't at all assuring. Wilson swallowed and hit the gas, scanning the roads for a limping man before he realized they had found House.

"You mean, he's at the hospital, with you?"

_"Yes."_

He let out a heavy breath that fogged up his window and pulled over onto the shoulder. "Thank God. Where was he?"

_"I don't know. He came from...Wilson, he was brought in in an ambulance."_

"What?" Wilson's mouth was suddenly dry and he was glad he had pulled over. "What do you mean? Is he okay? Oh my God. I can't believe I let this happen, this is all my fault. I shouldn't be allowed to-" Cuddy cut off the deluge of words that were spilling out of Wilson's mouth.

_"Wilson! It's okay. He's going to be fine. I'm taking care of him. I just wanted to let you know so you could stop looking and come see him."_

"Right," he wheezed out, blinking back tears, "Well I'll be there in about 10 minutes," (really, it should have taken 20, but he knew he was going to speed), "can you call Dr. Hadley and tell her that she needs to let everyone else know to stop looking?"

_"Of course. Drive safely, Wilson."_

He barked a laugh at her before hanging up the phone. A quick u-turn sent him back the way he came and Wilson pressed the gas pedal into the floor, hoping Cuddy wasn't very good at lying.

-----------------------------------------------------

"Get him cleaned up," Cuddy told a nurse who had helped transfer House from the gurney to a bed. He was clad in only his underwear – the paramedics said he was like that when they picked him up – and vomit was covering his face and upper torso. House was unconscious, which was probably lucky for him. His jaw, shoulders, and elbows were bright red, Cuddy assumed that they were probably like that because of blunt force, and that they would begin bruising soon. "Wipe him down, please, and get him a clean gown. He'll probably start going into shock soon, so let's get him a few extra blankets. I don't want to start him on anything until I know exactly what's going on. I'll run a tox screen on him."

The blood was delivered quickly and Cuddy went to her office to call 13, not wanting to watch the nurse clean off House, not wanting to know if there was more bruising than she had seen, or worse. She took House's cane with her, hanging it off the side of her desk, before dialling 13's number.

_"Hello?"_

"Dr. Hadley. It's Dr. Cuddy. We've found House. He's here."

"_Good. Is he alright?"_

Cuddy sighed and realized that although 13 cared about House, she probably didn't care quite as much as Wilson – she could hear the truth and still continue functioning. "I don't know. He's in emergency right now. The paramedics just brought him in."

"_Shit. What are his symptoms?"_

"Seizures, vomiting, and incoherent speech. He's unconscious now, I'm just running a tox screen on him."

_"That could be almost anything."_

"I know. Can you call everyone else?"

_"Yeah, sure."_

"Thank you."

13 didn't bother saying goodbye before she hung up the phone.

----------------------------------------------------

"I can do that." Wilson was standing by the curtain that was half closed, encircling House's bed. His coat was in his hand and he was talking to the nurse who was sponging grime off of House.

"Dr. Wilson?" the young girl asked.

"None other." He dropped his coat in a nearby chair and took the sponge from a limp hand. "Can you go and get Dr. House a clean gown please? And some blankets, too. He's shivering." She nodded and pulled off her gloves before leaving, pulling the curtain shut all of the way. Wilson dropped the sponge into a bucket of lukewarm water and looked at House. There was still some vomit on his chest, and sweat matted his hair to his forehead. There were bruises forming under his beard, on his cheekbones, on his shoulders, and on his elbows. His breath was coming in short gasps and his leg was trembling. But his heart rhythm played a steady beat on the monitor and his BP was in range. The sponge dripped as Wilson squeezed out the excess water and picked a towel up from the table. He swept the water across House's chest and then mopped it up. "Oh, God, House." He leaned over to press a gentle kiss to the man's forehead. "What happened to you?"

--------------------------------------------------------

Chase shifted his weight and rubbed his hands together while he waited for the gas clerk to count his change. He had run low on gas while scanning the back roads for House and didn't want to chance stalling in the middle of nowhere. The young, acne prone kid helping him right now seemed reluctant to part with the 75 cents, but dropped them into Chase's outstretched hand none the less. "Have a good night, sir," he chirped, watching Chase turn away.

"You, too," he replied without turning around. As he was getting into his warm waiting car, his phone rang. It was a phone number he didn't recognize, and was half tempted not to answer it, but thought that consider the circumstances, it wasn't advisable to ignore phone calls that could be important. He slid into the car and shut the door, "Hello?"

_"Chase, it's 13."_

One of House's old lackeys. Foreman's ex-girlfriend. House's _babysitter._ "Yup. What is it?"

"_You can stop looking for House. They found him. He's at the hospital."_

"Oh. Right," he said, starting the car. "Well, I'll call Allison and let her know, too. I'll be there in a bit."

"_Thanks for all your help tonight."_

"Don't worry about it." He hung up and dialled his wife.

------------------------------------------------------------

Wilson finished cleaning House off and put on the gown the nurse had brought in, gently lifting and turning his friend so that the fabric looked comfortable. He waited until the gown was on to take off House's underwear, and realized that House had wet himself. _Probably during the seizure._ He tossed them into the garbage and made a mental note to ask 13 to bring some from the apartment. The chair where he had tossed his jacket looked uncomfortable, but he was at such an awkward angle compared to House, so Wilson tugged it over next to the bed and sat down. He grabbed House's limp hand and rubbed his thumb over the palm before leaning down and resting his forehead on the bedding.

"Please be okay. I don't know what I'd do without you."

House's hand moved, one finger brushing Wilson's ear. "I'll be okay, Jimmy," he croaked.

-----------------------------------------------------------

"Are you sure you haven't seen him? You haven't seen anyone who looks remotely like that?" Cameron glared at her interrogate-ee in the dim light.

"Lady," the prostitute popped her gum and leaned against the lamp post with a burnt out light bulb, "I told you, I haven't seen him. Besides, you're not looking for someone who looks _remotely _like him, are you?" She smiled ferociously, showing a few missing teeth and a deteriorating gum line. This was the fifth prostitute that Cameron had pestered tonight, and honestly, she was getting tired of the "fuck you" attitude all these sex trade workers had. She sighed and turned to go when the woman stopped her. "Listen, I might have seen someone like him...walk by, you know?"

"Really?" Cameron turned, reaching into her purse for her wallet, about to inquire further when her phone rang – Chase's ring tone. She slid it open quickly, "Did you find him?"

_"I didn't, but I think Cuddy did. 13 says he's at the hospital."_

"Is he okay?"

_"I...didn't ask." _He seemed to just be realizing his mistake now.

"What do you mean you didn't ask? Why wouldn't you ask?"

_"I just wanted to call you, tell you that you could stop looking. We'll find out how he is when we get to the hospital."_

"Well I'm going to call Cuddy right now. I'll meet you at the hospital in a bit. Where is he? Do you at least know that?"

"_No. Sorry."_

"I'll call you back when I know. I love you."

"_Love you, too." _He hung up and Cameron turned to the other woman.

"Sorry sweetheart, looks like you're out of luck."

"That's okay," she was already turning to walk around and didn't even look back to finish her sentence. "I was going to lie anyways."

-----------------------------------------------------------

"House?!" Wilson lifted his head and met House's eyes, looking at him through heavy lids. "You're awake. Oh, shit. Are you okay? Where did you go? What happened?" He reached out a hand to touch House's face, avoided the bruising. When House leaned into the touch, Wilson figured he might as well do what he had wanted, and leaned forward to brush the cracked lips with a kiss.

"I feel alright," House told him, "but I'm so...so...I don..." He looked awkwardly at Wilson, apparently confused by his slurred words.

"It's okay," Wilson grabbed House's hand and squeezed it. "When they brought you here, they said you weren't speaking correctly. It might be a symptom."

"Wha?"

"Maybe it will help us figure out what's wrong with you," Wilson chided himself for using words too big for House, especially when the man was so vulnerable. "You don't have to talk for now. Just rest. I just want you to get better."

------------------------------------------------------------------

13 was sitting at the kitchen table, a mug of peppermint tea cupped between her hands, debating what to tell Foreman. She didn't even know if he would care that they had found House – he certainly hadn't been in the mood to help look for him. The police had already been contacted and had closed the file, Chase knew, and he was going to tell Cameron. Wilson had already been contacted, Foreman was the only one left. But still she was reluctant to call him. She had always found that severing contact was the best way to deal with exes, but that wasn't really an option at the moment. So she picked up the phone and called him.

_"You guys find him?"_

"Yes."

"_Good, I'm going home."_

She blinked and pursed her lips. "Don't you want to know if he's okay? Where he was? Where he is?"

_"I figured if he was dead or dying you would tell me. Since you didn't say anything, I assumed he was okay. I'm tired. I want to sleep. He has all of you to fawn over him tonight, I'll see him...later."_

"Whatever." She hung up without saying goodbye.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Cuddy stood in the behind the curtain, debating what to tell Wilson and what to ask him. She had been thrown by the results of the tox screen, but didn't want to make her employee feel like she was accusing him of anything – certainly she wasn't. She knew House had been on a steady, well enforced regimen of methadone since Mayfield, and she also knew that Wilson had been at work all day. So, the methadone was accounted for, and the shockingly high blood alcohol levels couldn't possibly be Wilson's fault – but what if they were 13's? They had only just found someone to watch House, and she knew that if Wilson lost faith in her, it would be a long time until he could trust a stranger with his friend.

She stopped thinking and decided the only real course of action was just to tell Wilson the truth and let him react however he saw fit. The curtain swung quietly out of her way and she smiled at Wilson's sleeping form, draped across the edge of the bed, gripping House's waist through the hospital blankets. Though she hated to wake him, she knew he would want to assist in the diagnosis, so she cleared her throat and coughed quietly, startling the sleeping man. He blinked and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes before walking over to her.

"What did you find out?" he whispered, obviously afraid of waking House.

"His blood alcohol level is through the roof. No wonder he was having seizures. I'm amazed he's still alive. I'm going to put him on a drip and move him to a room. We'll monitor him for a while and make sure he's okay. I think he'll be fine."

"His...blood alcohol? I don't understand what happened. I talked to some lady at a bar, Lisa," he ran his hand through his hair, "She said some guys dragged House out, they were taking him to some frat party. House just woke up, he didn't seem to have any clue what had happened."

She put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him further away from the bed. "That could just be speech. I'm sure when he wakes up tomorrow, he'll be able to tell you most of what happened, and we can fill in the blanks." She nodded, trying to be comforting.

"Haven't you seen all the bruises on him?" Wilson pointed, his voice rising, "Something happened to him tonight. I'm worried! What if they hurt him? What would they have wanted with a defenceless man?"

"Wilson, you need to calm down." She set the chart down on the foot of the bed so she hold Wilson's shoulders. "Everything will be okay. We'll figure this out. I'm going to arrange to have House moved soon, why don't you go home, get some things, and come back in a couple hours?"

He nodded and looked over at House, putting his hands in his pockets. "I'll be back in an hour."


	21. Travailler Moins, Rêver Plus

Title: Travailler Moins, Rêver Plus  
Rating: PG  
Disclaimer: Don't own.  
A/N: So I'm all sick and feverish, and my mind refuses to work well. I wanted to give you a longer chapter, I really did. I've got all these ideas, but I just can't seem to find the words right now. Hopefully once I'm healthy I can give you all massive dose of this crazy story.

* * *

"You don't have to stay here anymore." Wilson was walking through the living room on his way to the bedroom. He glanced at 13, but otherwise showed no notice of her. "I'm going back to the hospital to stay with House, so you can...you know, go home, or whatever." He heard her stool scrape across the floor as she got up, heard light, hesitant footsteps walking towards him. "Thanks for all your help, tonight," he told her as he opened the closet, retrieving a duffle bag. "I don't know what I would have done without you."

She was standing in the doorway, arms crossed, head down. 13 didn't mind that Wilson wasn't looking at her as he took clothing out of a drawer and put it into the bag – she preferred it. "If it wasn't for me, House wouldn't have gone missing to begin with. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," he said sincerely, looking at her for the first time since he had walked in the door. "I don't blame you."

"You should," she insisted, looking up hesitantly, "I would. I _do._"

He shook his head and zipped the bag shut before walking up to her. He put his hands on his shoulders. "Look, when I'm with House, I get tired too. I sleep. He sleeps. I've always told him to wake me up the minute he does. But he likes his independence. There's still some of the rebellious old House in there. Sometimes I wake up and he's trying to cook. One time, he broke a glass and almost cut his foot on it. These things can't always be avoided. He's a human being, and so are you. No one's perfect."

"I just..." she shook her head, "I can't believe I let this happen."

He sighed, "You didn't _let _anything happen. It just did. Now I have to go do something. Will you take this bag to the hospital for me? Make sure it gets to House's room. I'll be there in about an hour."

"What are you-" she finally looked up at him.

"I don't want to tell you," he handed her the bag, "just in case."

--------------------------------------------------------

"Dr. Cuddy?"

_"This is she."_

"I'm worried."

_"Who is this?"_

"Dr. Hadley."

"_What's bothering you, Dr. Hadley?"_

"Wilson. He went somewhere. I don't know where. He said he didn't want to tell me where, 'just in case'."

_"What do you mean? I thought he was going home to get a few things?"_

"He did. He gave them to me and asked me to deliver them. Then he said he was going somewhere and would be about an hour. He wouldn't tell me where."

_"I see. Well, the thing is Dr. Hadley, sometimes in circumstances such as these, it's best not to know the answer."_

_------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

The road away behind Wilson's car. Lights flashed by him. Other cars honked as he cut them off. And still Wilson refused to slow down. He needed answers, and if House was incapable of giving them, he would go to the source. He would beat the answers out of those college kids if he had to. The more he thought about it, the angrier he got – so that by the time he arrived at the frat house, he was seething. The wheels of the car screeched as he pulled up to the curb and slammed on the breaks, flinging himself out of the car. Since the door of the house was open, he let himself.

Loud music assaulted his ear drums as he walked through the door. A large throng of people ignored his presence. He walked up to a girl standing by the stereo, in her bra and skirt made of a towel. She smiled at him before holding out a plastic cup with an unknown liquid. "Aren't you a little old to be here?" she hiccupped and giggled at him, leaning more heavily on the stereo.

"No," he told her. "I was just wondering if you saw an ambulance here?"

"Oh yeah!" she was surprised by her memory. "There was one here! But that was, like, forever ago. Out back." She pointed through the back wall of the house and some of her drink spilled over the edge and onto Wilson's shoes. "Woops! Sorry!!"

"It's okay," he pushed past her and cut through a small room that took him out the back of the house. The building was filled with people, and he swore someone grabbed his ass at some point. He wasn't sure what he had been hoping to find in the back yard, but whatever it was, it wasn't there. There were a few guys passed out on lawn chairs, but one of the men lolling around was awake.

"Hey, how's it going?"

"Were you guys back here when an ambulance came for someone?"

"Yeah, man. It was nuts."

"Oh, really?" he asked, "And what exactly happened?"

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dr. Cuddy was sitting in her office when 13 came in, a duffle bag in her hand. "Hey, thought I'd bring this to you. House isn't in emergency anymore?"

Cuddy shook her head. "No. I had him moved to a private room. I thought he...Wilson might appreciate it."

"I'm sure he does." She dropped the duffle bag onto an arm chair. "House is okay, right?"

"He should be. Yes. His alcohol levels were outrageously high."

"His...what?"

"So you didn't know anything about that, then?"

"I'm sorry," 13 brushed her hair out of her face, "but, are you accusing me of giving him access to alcohol? I know he's on methadone, I know how dangerous that can be for him."

"I'm not accusing anyone of anything. I'm just asking."

"Dr. Wilson doesn't blame me for this."

"I don't blame you for it either."

"No, but you want to." 13 turned to leave the room before spinning back around. "I don't know what idea you've cooked up, but I only ever had House's best interests at heart. I would _never_ intentionally put him in danger." She left the room before Cuddy could reply.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chase's arm was wrapped around Cameron's waist as they waited for the nurse to look up House's room. "193." She grinned at them, "So I guess he's accepting more visitors, now?"

"You could say that," Chase told her, pulling Cameron towards the room.

"Do you think he's going to be alright?" she asked him as he directed her down the hallway.

"I don't know. I haven't talked to Cuddy. I thought you called her though?"

"I wanted to," she said as they walked up to the glass door. The blinds were drawn shut and they couldn't see inside. "But I was driving. I figured I would find out when we got here." She pushed the door open, and let out a gasp when she saw House on the bed. Chase released her and she hurried over to hold out a bowl just in time to catch the vomit.

House looked up at Chase sadly and wiped his mouth on his arm. "I don...ugh..." He groaned and leaned back on his pillow, shifting his blanket around.

"You okay buddy?" Chase filled a cup with some water while Cameron went to dump the contents of the bowl down the sink. House took the cup with a shaky hand and sipped down some of the cool liquid before shaking his head. When he didn't respond, Chase frowned. "What's wrong?" He sat down on the edge of the bed. "Why aren't you talking?"

House shook his head again. "No. Should-"

Cuddy cut him off when she walked into the room. "His speech patterns are still a little off. We told him just to rest for now."

"What do you mean, off?" Cameron asked, walking out of the bathroom.

"No one's told you?" Cuddy walked over to the end of the bed and pulled off the chart, handing it to Cameron. "Incoherent speech, vomiting, seizures. I think it's a result of the high BAL and methadone mixing. I would pump his stomach, but it seems that it's working through his system."

"But his liver..." Cameron said, flipping through the chart.

"I know, I thought of that, too," Cuddy said, moving closer to House and putting a hand on his forehead. "But he's thrown up at least 6 times since he got here, and he was covered in vomit when he came in. There's no food in his vomit now, which means he must have thrown up a fair amount. He probably got a lot of the alcohol out that way." She patted his hair back and smiled down at him. "Are you happy that Chase and Cameron are he to visit?"

He nodded slowly, but looked at the door.

"What is it House?" Cameron put the chart back at the end of the bed.

"I wan my..."

"You want something?"

He nodded and looked at the door again.

"You want to go for a walk?" Cuddy asked him.

He shook his head and let out a long stream of air. "Ugh...my...my..." he pointed at the dresser.

"There's nothing in the dresser, House."

"Guh!" He was frustrated and looked out the window, choosing to ignore them all.

"I think he wants Wilson," 13 told them from the doorway.

* * *

Etc.:  
**TombeDeLaLune**: I didn't mean to bash Foreman! That's just how I think his character would react to this situation. I think...I'm not crazy about his character, because he's pretty full of himself, but at the same time, I know somewhere in his heart, he really does care about House. That's why I made him get the hell out of bed and look for the man. :)

**Ghostner:** Der Schöne Mensch means "The Beautiful Man" and Ameno actually doesn't have a translation, it's just the title of a song by Era. (Good song, too!).


	22. Nothing Else Matters Much

Title: Nothing Else Matters Much  
Rating: PG-13 (bad words, naughty insinuations)  
Disclaimer: I don't claim to own any of these people - other than the ones that you don't really recognize, in which case, they're all mine!  
A/N: Huge thanks to **Camlem** on ffnet for the title correction for the last chapter. Notice I'm sticking to English with this title (lol).  
A/N2: Sorry this took so long. I still feel like crap, so it's a lot of effort to get myself out of bed. But I've had this chapter planned since I wrote the summary for the story, so I finally kicked my sorry arse out of bed and wrote it.

* * *

The college student leaned forward in his chair. He was so close that Wilson felt he might be intoxicated just from the fumes. Smiling, the kid opened his mouth, "Okay, so Rick and Jim," he motioned over his shoulder to the two guys passed out behind him, "bring home this really old guy, who's fuckin' tanked, like I swear, he can't even walk..."

_"Come on old man, you gotta help, we can't do all this ourselves." Two young men dragged House out of the back seat of a taxi and watched the yellow vehicle pull away before commencing the arduous task of dragging the drunk man to the back yard. Regardless of the fact that House's head lolled from side to side, he still managed to maintain a firm grasp on his cane while he was manoeuvred through piles of beer bottles and garbage. His feet barely skimmed the ground on the way around the house._

_"Where did...I want...what's Jimmy?" he mumbled at the men carrying him who ignored his anxiousness, grinning from ear to ear._

_"Told you man, don't know a Jimmy. But we're gonna have fun anyway." The trio turned sideways and one of the guys elbowed the gate open. They tugged House over by the pool and dropped him near a woman, who was laying passed out by the water's edge. House sat up for a moment and watched at his 'friends' stumbled over to where a group of students had congregated near a keg. One of the men grabbed a plastic cup and held it out towards House. Some of the frothy, amber liquid spilled on to the grass, but the man holding it paid no heed. "Want some?"_

_House shook his head, but his response didn't matter. Soon the drink was being tipped down his throat, the college kids giggling drunkenly. He gagged on the beverage, tried to spit it up, but only succeeded in choking himself and spilling it down his front. House batted limply at the cup and moved to lay in his side in the grass, reaching one hand out to dip it in the cool water of the pool. "Don't feel...good," he mumbled into the ground. The men who had brought him to the party disappeared, but the girl on the ground next to him woke up slowly. She laid her head on his rib cage and purred. _

_"Aren't you cute?" A hiccup and a giggle punctuated her comment appropriately. When she slowly dragged a finger down the side of House's face he tried to pull away, groaning. "You can't be very comfy in those wet clothes, can you?"_

_He turned to look at her, questioning, before nodding slowly. "Not." _

_The woman stood on shaky legs and held out her hands to help him up. "Come on," she giggled again and brushed damp hair out of her eyes, "I'll help you _change..."

Wilson sighed and dropped himself onto a vacant chair and frowned. "So your friends bring this drunk guy home, who obviously doesn't feel very well, and then everyone thinks it's okay to just give him more alcohol?"

"Hey now, I wasn't there where _that _happened, they just told me about it. I'm the senior here, I got called when he was upstairs."

"Why?"

"Well that girl who was helping him 'change'? Jim's girlfriend, Jenny. Someone walked in when this guy is in his shorts, Jenny's holding his pants, and this kid flips out and screams for Jim. Jim goes upstairs as fast as he can, and is just about to beat this guy to pulp when the guy drops on the floor. Jenny starts screaming bloody murder, guess she thought Jim did it and freaked out. Anyways, they called me, I called an ambulance."

"This guy – the one who fell to the floor – he was having a seizure, right?"

"I think so," the man closed his eyes and groaned, "but I mean, I drank tonight, too. I'm not all here."

"He was covered in bruises when he got to the hospital." Wilson wasn't letting this person pass out on him until he knew the whole story; he reached out a hand and shook the story teller lightly. "What are those from, if Jim never beat him up?"

"They were in a small room. When I came in, he was flailing everywhere and hitting tons of furniture. Puked all over the carpet. Glad that's not my room they were in."

Wilson stood up quickly and was about to thank the man, but noticed he had passed out. Glancing at his watch, he realized his hour was just about up. The hospital had never felt farther away.

* * *

13 dropped the bag on the wardrobe before walking over to House's side. "How're you feeling?" House shook his head but didn't say anything when Cuddy reached out to pet his hair. "Do you mind," 13 asked, looking around the room, "giving House and I a minute alone?"

"Yeah."

"Sure," Cameron and Chase replied simultaneously, moving for the door, but Cuddy took a moment longer to assent, rising slowly off the side of the bed, finally taking her hand from House's forehead.

"I'll be back in a bit with something for him to eat. You're hungry, aren't you?" she looked questioningly at House, who gave her a clipped nod before looking at 13.

Once the door closed, 13 took up Cuddy's old seat, and frowned down at House. "I'm so sorry, this is all my fault. I should have been keeping a better eye on you." She looked at the blanket in lieu of his face, moving her hands slowly, wringing at something that she wasn't holding. "I don't know what to say to make this better." She still couldn't bring herself to look at him, didn't see the pinched look of regret across his face, couldn't see him searching for words he couldn't find. But she knew how he felt when one of his shaking hands covered hers. This was enough to encourage her to look up at him, to see him smiling at her, right before he started seizing again.

* * *

Now that Wilson knew the entire story, he was berating himself for wasting time trying to find out what had happened. Why did it really matter how House had gotten that way? He was hurting, and Wilson wanted to be there for him. But instead, he had played the fool and gone looking for answers that didn't have anything to do with anything. He slammed the heel of his palm against the surface of the steering wheel, shocking himself and few other drivers when the car emitted a loud honk. He waved apologetically at the driver nearest him before speeding up to get away from the clump of angry cars.

The hospital was only five minutes away.

* * *

"House? House, can you understand me?" Cameron was shining a pen light in his eyes. She flicked it off and waited for him to answer.

"Ngh..."

"Close enough for me," Chase answered from his spot at the end of the hospital bed.

"House, you just had a seizure, do you know who I am?" Cameron ignored her husband, placing her hands on House's shoulders.

House nodded, "Beach," before closing his eyes and rolling onto his side, clearly exhausted and wanting nothing but rest. 13 glanced up from the window, shocked.

"Did he just call you a bitch?"

Chase shook his head and answered for his wife, who was carefully recording House's vitals on his chart. "We went to the beach with House and Wilson a while back, I think he's relating that to her name, since he's still having trouble picking out the right words." Cameron nodded, agreeing, as she stuck the chart back on the end of the bed.

"For now, that's going to have to do for a solid answer. Until his speech is totally coherent again, we can't be perfectly certain that there isn't any long term brain damage."

13 laughed harshly. "Really, does this guy ever get a break?"

"Cuddy told me she moved House here," Wilson was standing in the doorway, looking from Chase to Cameron to 13, "is he okay?"

"He's fine," Cameron answered him. "He just had another seizure, so he's tired. Why don't we go, so you two can be together for a while?" She led the other two out of the room and closed the blinds before shutting the door behind them.

Wilson walked over to the side of the bed so he could see House's face. "Hey, you awake?" He ran his hand down House's exposed arm before leaning down to press a worried kiss to slightly parted lips. "You really had me worried, that stunt you pulled." House grunted and let his eye lids flutter open.

"Jimmy." He reached out his hand and pulled on Wilson's shirt, shifting Wilson abdomen awkwardly close to the bed frame. "You aren't...gone...I was..."

"Sh...sh," Wilson dropped the rail on the side of the bed, "it's okay, we'll talk later," he motioned for House to push over some and climbed onto the bed. The IVs were all on the other side, so Wilson made himself comfortable, wrapping his arms around House and adjusting the man's head so that it was resting on his chest. "Rest now." Wilson closed his eyes too, synchronizing his slow, even breaths with House's and promptly fell asleep.


	23. Contra Mundum

Title: Contra Mundum  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: Not mine!!  
A/N: So I wanted to wrap up the whole hospital thing and get the story back on track. This chapter is a little bit choppy (I suppose you could call it the "vignette" chapter). Moving back into the original plotline next chapter. :)  
A/N2: Thank you to all of you who wished me a speedy recovery! I'm feeling much better now, and hopefully I'll be able to write more, faster now.

* * *

Cuddy noticed the curtains were shut in House's room when she exited the elevator and hurried over to the nurse's station. "Is everything okay in Dr. House's room?" she asked the junior nurse on duty.

The young woman shrugged her shoulders. "I think so. Dr. Wilson went in there and then everyone else left. Dr. Chase told me not to let anyone in there unless it was an emergency."

Cuddy nodded, "I see." Regardless of Chase's orders, she couldn't help her curiosity, and she knew the nurse wouldn't stop her. So she slid open the tinted glass door as little as possible. Wilson and House were tangled together on the small bed, the hospital blankets pooled around House's waist. Wilson stirred and blinked before looking at Cuddy. His face immediately contorted and he pushed back from House.

"I wasn't – we weren't – I was just-"

Cuddy cut him off, "Wilson, it's okay. I just wanted to turn off the lights."

* * *

"So how are you feeling?" Wilson watched as House ingested his carefully prepared and cut pancakes.

"Hungry," House told him through mouthfuls of soggy food before looking up, "and sorry."

"House," Wilson asked from the armchair where he had taken up residence and was currently doing a crossword puzzle, "what made you do it?"

"I don't know," he shrugged.

And for a moment, in his fear and regret and guilt, Wilson forgot himself and was heedless of circumstance."You don't know?!" He stood up quickly, tossing the paper to the floor, and threw his hands into the air. "You don't know? People were scouring the streets for you, worried sick, and the best you can give me is "I don't know"?"

House had dropped his fork to the plate and was staring at Wilson – his eyes wide and trickling a gentle stream of tears down his face. "I'm sorry."

"I know, House," Wilson reminded himself of where he was and took a deep breath. "Me, too."

"I just...I was having a dream...about this one night. I was at this place and that girl who died on the bus...you called her Amber?" Wilson nodded his encouragement. "She was singing this song. I don't know why, but it made me real scared and sad. And then I woke up and I was in the same place – the place where she had been singing. I know I'm not supposed to talk to strangers, but they said they would buy me something to drink and I was so thirsty and...and...they weren't very nice. I wanted to go home. I felt funny and hot and they made me go with them." House looked pitifully at Wilson. "I just wanted to go home." He was pleading for Wilson's forgiveness.

"I know House," he said, taking House's hand, "It's okay. It's not your fault."

* * *

House had been brought home the following day when Foreman had determined there was no permanent brain damage from the incident. He had told House, in the examination, how lucky he was. House had told Wilson in the car ride home that he didn't know how much he liked Foreman. "You used to like him," Wilson said, "I think you used to respect him a lot. Maybe you don't now, though."

"What does that mean?" House asked, looking out the window at the buildings passing by them.

"It means that you didn't always agree with him or like him, but you understood why he acted the way he did and you...you appreciated his decisions."

"Oh."

"I was thinking that maybe when we get home I should call Dr. Nolan and make an appointment with him? It's been a while since he called."

"Dr. Nolan? What about Dr. Burroughs?" House ran his fingers over the handle on his cane.

"We'll still be seeing Dr. Burroughs once a week, but Dr. Nolan used to be your doctor. He's been asking to see you for a while – I think maybe he feels a little guilty about what happened to you."

"Oh."

At a red light, Wilson turned to House, putting his hand on the man's knee. "House, is everything okay? You've been very quiet the whole way home."

"I'm fine." But he didn't seem fine.

* * *

"_Dr. Wilson, I had been wondering if I might hear back from you at all." _Dr. Nolan's voice was smooth on the other end of the telephone. He sounded tired, but that wasn't surprising considering it was 11 at night. Wilson hadn't even been sure if Nolan would be at work, but he had wanted to wait until House went to bed to call the doctor. He wasn't sure what was going to be said, and he didn't want to upset House anymore than was necessary at the moment.

"Sorry I'm calling so late."

"_It's fine. I just finished some filing. So, did you think about my message?"_

"I did. I can't help but wonder if you want to see House, though, just so that you can gauge how guilty you should feel. "Wilson hated being so blunt, but if he could do it to protect anyone, it was House.

_"That's not why I called. I wanted to see Greg. I wanted to know how he was doing. I wanted to know if there was anything we could do for you. I heard he was living with you?"_

"Yes, he is." _And that's how it's going to stay._

"_How are things with him, Dr. Wilson?"_

"Fine..." Wilson lied, looking at House's bedroom door, left slightly ajar so the light from the hallway could filter in. "No, that's not true. We just...had an incident the other day." He rubbed his brow and leaned back against the couch, letting out a low breath. "House...I'm pretty sure he was sleep walking. He ended up in the hospital."

_"Will he be alright?" _Wilson was pleased to hear that Dr. Nolan sounded appropriately concerned.

"I think so. I brought him home today. He's sleeping now – though it took some convincing on my end."

_"It must be difficult for you to see your best friend like this. I would really like to talk to both of you in person – see how you're _both _doing."_

"I suppose I can appreciate that, but we're meeting with Dr. Burroughs weekly. I don't know how effective a session with you would be."

"_I don't want to have a session with you. I took...a special interest in Greg. I would like to see him again."_

Wilson pushed himself off the couch while listening to Dr. Nolan and padded softly to House's door, peering into the dark room. House was on his side, facing the door, staring at Wilson with wide eyes. He snapped them shut once he realized he was being watched, but Wilson knew the night was far from over. "I'm going to take a look at my schedule at work tomorrow, I'll call you back during the day, if that's okay? We can try to work something out."

_"That sounds great. Thank you Dr. Wilson."_

Wilson hung up the phone and walked into House's room, setting the cordless down on the nightstand. "What's going on? I thought you were tired?" He perched himself on the edge of the mattress so that House could lean forward and rest on his lap.

"I was," House said, leaning his head back to look up at Wilson, "I am."

"Well, why aren't you sleeping then? I turned off your light half an hour ago."

House shifted slightly and rolled away from Wilson, lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. "I have to pee."

"Well, then, get up and go pee. I'm not going to stop you."

House looked nervously at Wilson, then back at the ceiling. "I'm thirsty."

"So get yourself some water. You're certainly tall enough to reach." Wilson knew this wasn't about the urge to urinate or thirst. He just had to wait for House to figure it out, too. Figure it out, and tell him.

"I just...Jimmy?" House was looking at Wilson, now.

"Yes, House?" Wilson reached out and grabbed one of House's hands, resting on top of the comforter.

"What if I run away again?"

Wilson looked down at their hands. It would be a lie to tell House he wasn't worried about that, too. But he didn't want House to fret about something he couldn't fix. "I'm sure you won't."

"But what if I do?" House wrapped his hand around Wilson's wrist. "What if I run away and I get more hurt than last time? What if nobody goes _scouring _for me? What if no one ever finds me?"

Wilson swallowed dryly. "I would find you House. If you ever ran away, I would look until I found you. I wouldn't stop for anything."

"But what if-"

"No ifs. I would find you." Wilson curled over to kiss House, angling his body so that their chests were almost touching. "I would look until I found you, or I died."

House's hand moved from Wilson's wrist to his bicep, his breath was hot on Wilson's face. "Promise?"

"I promise." Wilson dipped his head again to kiss House once more before sitting up and running his hands over House's chest. "How about you sleep in my bed tonight, just in case?" House nodded and let Wilson help him up.

* * *

The phone never sounded so loud. Wilson let his hand fly over the nightstand, searching for the ringing noise. _Where the fuck?_ Through the fog of sleep, he couldn't seem to remember where he had left the telephone last night. House rolled over and groaned, pressing his face into the pillow. _Oh, right._ Wilson jumped out of bed, tripped on House's cane, and caught himself on and armchair before bolting out of his room to run into House's. The phone stopped ringing as he picked it up. The caller ID said it was the hospital. Why would the hospital be calling? _You're late!_ Wilson looked at the clock on the wall – 10 am. He had missed his first appointment. But where was 13? She was usually at the apartment by 8:30. She would have woken them... The answering machine had gotten the call. Wilson walked into the living room and pressed play.

_"Wilson? It's Cameron. Dr. Hadley came in to the hospital today, said she wouldn't be able to watch House. She seemed fine to me, I think maybe...she's just feeling a little...upset about the whole running away fiasco. Anyways, I have to work until 11, so I've pushed your appointments back until noon. I'll be over at your place around 11:30, I can watch House today. Call me back. Okay?"_


	24. Amor Dulce

Title: Amor Dulce  
Rating: PG  
Disclaimer: Not mine. [insert wit here]  
A/N: Ugh. The gooey-ness may be overwhelming. I appologise for fluff.

* * *

Wilson figured he should get a shower soon, but he wanted to let Cameron know he had gotten her message first. He called her and let her know that he would be waiting for her- thanked for dealing with the appointment. While he was under the warm spray of water, he wondered why Cameron had waited so long to call. He was grateful that he had gotten the extra sleep, and considered that maybe she knew he would want it. The last couple of days, spent curled on the small hospital bed with House, had been hard on him. His muscles were sore and his joints were aching. Hot water ran over his back while he kneaded at the tight muscle between his shoulders, trying to release some of the pain. Hopefully House would keep sleeping for a while; regardless of the fact that he had been released from the hospital, he still needed to rest, and it wasn't like Wilson had anything planned for that day, anyways. He turned off the shower and got out, towelling himself dry as he walked into his bedroom.

House wasn't in the bed. "Oh my God. Not again." Wilson let out an exasperated sigh. "House?!" He tried not to let his heart beat accelerate too much before he knew for sure that House was gone. _No reply._ He left the bedroom, tying the towel securely around his waist and walked into the kitchen, hoping that his friend might have been thirsty. House wasn't there either. _Where would he have gone this time?_ Wilson was about to pick up the phone when a sharp note struck out on the piano. He looked up sharply, almost getting a crick in his neck. House was sitting awkwardly at the piano, clad in his pyjamas, one hand on the keyboard. He glanced up at Wilson nervously, smiling and pushed another key.

"It doesn't sound right," House told his best friend quietly. "Does it?"

"No, I should get it tuned...if you...want to play."

House plunked a few more keys and grinned. "I don't know how."

"I could get you lessons. I think you would learn quickly." Wilson shifted his weight anxiously before walking over to the piano and running a finger over the surface, through the dust. "I was hoping you might start playing one day."

"I used to, right?" House plunked another few keys, what sounded like the start of a tune.

"Yes, you did." Wilson gripped the towel more tightly around his waist, "You played it so well. You could make up your own songs, you had hundreds of songs memorized. I loved it when you played."

"Do you think you would love it if I learned again? Would I be as good?" His fingers skittered over the keys, feeling the ivory press against them.

"I _know _I would love it. You will play beautifully." Wilson turned to go to his bedroom, "I'll call someone about lessons tomorrow, okay?"

House nodded at Wilson's retreating back, before pressing the keys again and playing a few notes that trilled together. "Lessons," he whispered quietly to himself. "Piano lessons."

After Wilson had dressed, Cameron was knocking at the door. House answered it, smiling at the familiar face on the other side. "I thought 13 was going to watch me at home?" he asked, watching Cameron set her bag on the couch.

"She didn't feel well today," Cameron told him, giving him a small smile. "So until she's better, I'm going to hang out with you. Is that okay?"

"Yeah," House said, closing the door. Wilson came out of the room, clipping his bag shut.

"Cameron, thanks for coming. Are you sure this is okay? I can just take House to work with me if-"

"No, it's fine," she said, looking around the apartment, "I don't mind."

"Okay, well thank you again. I'll try to finish up as fast as I can and be back by 5."

"Don't rush anything," she told him, walking into the kitchen. "Do you mind if I have something to eat?"

"Sure," Wilson told her, taking his coat out of the closet and pulling it on, "Make yourself at home. House?" he turned to the older man, who had followed him to the foyer and was now standing immediately behind him. "Be good today, okay? No running away." He winked at House before giving him a small kiss on the forehead. "I'll see you later."

"Bye Jimmy." House touched his wrist briefly before dropping his hand. "I will be good." He opened the door to let Wilson out and shut it behind him, locking the door, just as Wilson had taught him to do a few weeks ago. He turned to find Cameron in the kitchen making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

"You want one?" she asked, tugging the bread out of the plastic bag.

"Yeah." He limped over to the island in the kitchen and hefted himself onto a stool. "I'm starving."

"I bet," she grinned up at him, "All you've had to eat in the past three days is hospital food. I hate that stuff."

"Me, too." He grimaced and then let out a short laugh. "Cameron?" His fingers danced over the wooden surface of the island.

"Yes, House?" she didn't look up from the sandwiches, but it didn't matter much, because he wasn't looking at her, either.

"Do you think 13 is upset at me? Is that why she's not here today?"

"No, House. I think," Cameron looked up from the bread, "House?" She waited until he was looking at her, "I think that she feels guilty about what happened. And she's not sure how to handle that guilt. She needs some time to figure it out."

"Oh. Okay."

Cameron cut the sandwich in half and dropped it onto a plate. "Do you want an apple or something with that?"

"I like grapes," he said, picking up one half of the sandwich, eating it in two large bites. "I like the way they pop in my mouth."

Cameron laughed while she pulled open the fridge, bent over to look in the crisper. "You're in luck, Wilson's got some grapes in here."

"I know," he told her, getting up to get himself a drink, "_Jimmy _likes to buy to food I like to eat."

Cameron washed off a small bunch of grapes and dropped them onto House's plate. She picked up her sandwich and took of a tiny bite. "So, what do you want to do today?" she asked after she had swallowed.

House took up his seat across from her again, drank some water, and cocked his head to the side. "I don't know. I want to do something...fun."

"Hmm..." Cameron tapped her fingers in a pattern on the surface of the counter. "What would be fun...?" The window in the kitchen let in some light and she looked outside, wondering what would occupy the mind of a child/adult like House. "Do you want to go to an amusement park?"

"Huh?" he asked her, his mouth full of what seemed to be 6 grapes.

She rolled her eyes, "House, you should finish chewing and swallow before you talk. An amusement park has lots of fun rides to go on, lots to do. You'd like it! It would be a little chilly, but we could go. We wouldn't get back until about 8, though."

He dramatically chewed the remainder of the grapes and gulped them down. "What about Jimmy?"

"I could call him, tell him not to rush back. What do you think?"

"Okay." He smiled at her and popped a few grapes into his mouth.

* * *

It had taken some convincing, but finally House had gotten onto the roller coaster. Clementon Park didn't have ridiculously large rides, but the man seemed nervous about the rattling noise of the cart flying over the tracks. "Seriously House," Cameron tugged on his arm, "You'll be fine. I'll be right next to you."

"That won't stop the cart from flying off the track," he replied, standing stock still and refusing to move.

"House, come on, I already paid for the tickets." She tugged a little harder and he eventually gave in. Now they were sitting side by side and his legs were bouncing anxiously up and down. "House," she said, putting a hand on his forearm, "You'll be fine. I promise. Hundreds of people have gone on this thing before."

"Uh huh," he said, glancing at the family in front of them, composed of a frazzled mother, a young teen boy, and a hysterical girl of about 6 years, who was crying loudly. "Look," he pointed at the family, "she doesn't want to go on it either."

The mother of the family turned to stare angrily at House. She sneered at Cameron, who had grabbed House's hand and pulled it down. "Sorry," she placated the woman. "You can't do that," she reprimanded, turning to House, "pointing is rude."

"Oh," House leaned forward and tapped the crying child on the shoulder. The girl stopped crying, and turned, confused, to look at House. "I'm sorry I pointed at you," he apologized quietly. The girl didn't cry again for the rest of the ride. Cameron wanted to think it was because House had made her feel better, but she knew it was probably just the shock of being talked to by someone so much older and bigger than her. When the ride took off, House gripped Cameron's hand so hard she thought the bones may break, but she knew it was her fault for forcing him on the ride. Karma's a bitch.

Afterwards he was elated though. He took his cane happily from the attendant who had held onto it and walked down the exit ramp. He looked at Cameron, his eyes glittering. "That was so much fun! We went so fast. And when we went through that loop, I so thought we were going to fall out!" He hurried down the ramp, curling around the back of the roller coaster. Cameron followed warily. It had been a few years since she had gone on the ride, and it upset her stomach more than she remembered. "Can we go on it again?" he asked her excitedly.

"I don't think so House. I don't feel very well."

"Please?" He begged her, whining. "Just once more? Please?"

"It doesn't seem like a good plan."

He looked desperately at the ride, longing to feel the wind in his face again. He tapped his cane lightly on the ground, thinking. "What if...what if I go alone? You can just wait for me."

"I don't know...I suppose..." She looked at him, saw how desperately he wanted this. "Okay, just the once though, okay? Then we need to go home."

"Yes!" He curled his hands into fists and curled over in victory. Cameron noticed one person looking confusedly at the exchange, but brushed them off.

"Come on," she guided House to the ticket booth, "let's go."

* * *

"It was so much fun!" House exclaimed, curling spaghetti around his fork, looking up at Wilson - who was ushering Cameron out the door. "Thanks, Cameron!"

"You're welcome. Maybe I'll see you tomorrow." She turned to Wilson and said quietly, "I don't know if 13 will be feeling more...adequate tomorrow. Let me know if you need me to come over."

Wilson nodded, "If she can't come over, I'll just bring House to work with me. I think he misses the hospital sometimes anyways. He'd like to visit again."

"Even after..." her voice trailed off while she dug in her bag for her keys.

"Yeah, I think he doesn't really relate that part of the hospital with where I work. He likes my office. He likes it when we go for lunch and he has the chance of seeing you or Chase in the cafeteria. He feels like he belongs there."

"Okay, well, you guys have a good night."

"We'll do that. Thanks again." He shut the door behind her and returned to the coffee table where House was sitting, one plate of spaghetti untouched. "Work was slow today. I kept thinking about you." Wilson didn't look up from his food. He wondered if House would understand the implication. Did he know enough to understand it?

"Did you?" he asked brightly. "I thought about you too. I missed you. I felt bad that Cameron had to miss work to be with me.

"I'm sure she didn't mind House, she loves you."

"What?"

"She loves you." Wilson grinned at House. "Just like Chase and 13 and Cuddy. They all care about you very much."

"What about you?"

"I...I care about you, too. You know I love you. But I love you differently."

"How?" House asked quietly, dinner forgotten, he was staring a hole through Wilson.

"I like to think that...I care even more about you. When you're hurting, or sick, or sad, I want to be the one you want. I want to be there for you more than anyone else. I like to hold you, and I like to kiss you. I like to spend as much time as I can with you." He reached out a hand and touched the side of House's face, using the pad of his thumb to wipe off a fleck of spaghetti sauce. "I would do anything for you."

"Me, too." House smiled and turned his face, kissing Wilson's palm. "Me, too."


	25. Where is the Love?

Title: Where is the Love?  
Rating:G  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Never was, never will be.  
A/N: I know it's short, and I'm sorry :( But I wanted to put something up, and my muse is not behaving lately.

* * *

The phone woke Wilson around midnight. He was considering not answering it, but when House's body shifted next to him and emitted a quiet moan, he knew he should stop the ringing before it woke his friend. He picked up his cell and didn't bother looking at the ID before flipping open. "Dr. Wilson."

"Wilson, it's 13."

"Oh. Hi." He wasn't sure what he was supposed to say to her, so he waited for her to talk. Rationally speaking, she was the one who made the phone call anyways, she must have had something in mind.

"Um...I'm sorry about today. I should have contacted you."

"It's okay," he mumbled, rubbing his face. He figured he should get out of bed to have the conversation, so as not to wake House, but when he moved to get up, a hand shot out and grabbed onto the hem of his pyjama top, stopping him in his tracks. House didn't say anything, but it was clear he wanted Wilson to stay. "Are you planning on coming over tomorrow?"

"I know it's a lot to ask, but I was wondering if I could have the rest of the week off?"

"That should be okay," Wilson said, squinting to look out the window at nothing important. He ran his hand over House's, which was still grasping at the soft cotton of an old t-shirt. "We'll see you next Monday, then."

"Thanks. I just..."

"Need some time? It's okay, I understand." Wilson hung up the phone and scooted down to lay in the bed again. He adjusted himself so that his back was to House's chest and breathed in, wrapping their fingers together and resting their hands on his chest. It was just like the old days.

* * *

House woke Wilson up early by breaking a glass in the kitchen. It wasn't the first time, and Wilson knew it wouldn't be the last. He grumbled and pushed himself out of bed, going to the scene of the crime. "Don't touch it!" House said loudly – the first few times dishes had been broken, this had been Wilson's first response. It had obviously left an impression. "It's all sharp."

"I know," Wilson yawned, assessing the damage – it had been a small glass, so luckily the mess was minimal. "Stay there. I'll go get a broom and your slippers. Where are they?"

"Under your bed," he said, leaning on the counter, getting ready to wait. "I'm sorry!"

"It's okay." While Wilson cleaned up the shards of glass, he contemplated the way things were going. Every time he felt like House took a step forward, there seemed to be a step back. He could never seem to help the process any, and it was starting to infuriate him. It was getting far too difficult to watch his friend like this – where before there had been hope for a future, Wilson now felt like every action was futile. As an oncologist, he had seen many people lose hope, while being their pillar, but he had no one to support him now, and he wasn't sure he could stand on his own much longer.

House stood still, watching as the pieces of the broken dish were swept away, before making a move to get another one. "I'll be more careful next time, I promise."

Wilson nodded, dumping the garbage, "I know you will be. What time is it?"

"I don't know. It's still dark outside. But my mouth was really dry." House smacked his lips for emphasis, filling his glass with tap water and taking a long draught. "Sorry I woke you up." He extended the half empty glass to Wilson, offering the last of the water.

"It's alright," Wilson told him, taking the glass and finishing off the contents. "I should get ready for work anyways."

"I get to go with you today, right?"

"That's right," Wilson told him. The glass clinked as it was placed in the dishwasher. "Since you're awake why don't you go and get dressed?" House nodded and disappeared into his room until Wilson had taken a shower, and was standing in front of the mirror. A hesitant hand opened the bathroom door, making it squeak. "It's okay, House, you can come in."

In jeans and a graphic tee, House looked extremely comfortable, perching himself on the toilet so as to watch while Wilson finished getting ready (House's favourite part was the blow drying of hair). "So...you said something about piano lessons?"

"Mhm. I called someone yesterday on my lunch break. I set it up so that you can go every Wednesday while I'm at work. But we have to wait two weeks to start," Wilson told House through a thick foam of toothpaste, "because this coming Wednesday, we're going for lunch with Dr. Nolan."

"Right. Dr. Nolan."

"You know who he is," Wilson said, rinsing his toothbrush. "Your old doctor. He wants to see us. He wants to know how you're doing."

"Okay."

House left the bathroom without waiting to watch the end of the show, leaving Wilson confused. Through the hum of the hair drier, Wilson could hear a melancholy plink of piano keys.

* * *

Wilson had been in appointments all day, leaving House to watch TV, play with his PS2, and laze about in the staff lounge. Chase had stopped in to say hi, but had been paged immediately on arrival. After hours of boredom, House found himself restless and was tempted to leave the room. He knew he wasn't supposed to, and that Wilson would probably freak out, considering what had happened so recently, but single player foosball was only fun for so long. He told himself he would just go to the bathroom and be right back, pushing open the door and glancing side to side before stepping slowly into the hallway.


	26. Tá Sé Fíor

Title: Tá Sé Fíor  
Rating: PG  
Disclaimer: They're not mine...it's a hard fact to face, but I've done it 26 times already for this story alone...

* * *

Wilson finished writing his sentence on the chart and glanced at his watch. He had been hoping to go pick House up around noon and take him for lunch, and his stomach was growling now, which meant that it must be about time. He was surprised to find that it was nearly three o' clock – he had no clue where the time had gone. As he closed the file, he realized – his stomach dropping – that House hadn't had a dose of medication since six that morning. His chair flew away from the desk as he pushed back, slamming him into the bookshelf behind him, resulting in the fall of a few stuffed animals. Wilson ignored them, reaching into a desk drawer, grabbing the bottle of methadone, and hurrying from the room. On his way to the oncology staff lounge, one of the doctors stopped him, asking for some advice. "Sorry," he said, already walking away from the open file and stunned employee, "I can't talk now. I'll call you later." By the time Wilson arrived at the lounge, his calves were hurting from the speed walking/running. Panting lightly, he pushed open the door, saying, "House, I'm so sorry." But his words landed on no one – the room was empty. He hopefully walked over to the couch, hoping House had collapsed on it, and was in a ball, but no such luck. Wilson told himself, anxiously, to breathe. _Okay, this is fine, he's just in the bathroom..._ He turned and left the room, hurrying, if a little faster than he had before, to the bathroom.

He shouldered the door, pushing inside, but found himself stuck outside of the bathroom – the door wouldn't budge. It seemed stuck on its hinges. In a slight panic, Wilson kicked at the door, using the bottom of his foot to try and knock it loose. But his efforts only resulted in a sorer leg than a moment ago, so he put the bottle of methadone in his pocket and used both hands to push on the door. A few people walking by glanced at him, confused, but didn't stop to inquire, because sometimes in a hospital, you just don't want to know. What sounded like a wet, muffled scream came from inside the bathroom, and Wilson knew, _he just knew_, that House was in there – screaming in pain. And Wilson couldn't get in. He rammed against the door again, with all his might, ignoring the throbbing pain that shot through his arm with every beat of his heart. "Come on, damn it," he whispered angrily at the door, "open!" His hands were shaking, and he felt the prickling in his eyes that hinted at tears to come. "Please..." he moaned, pushing desperately on the door, when he heard a guttural groan of pain from the other side. Making a fist, Wilson decided to try knocking on the door, "House! Please open the door. I know you're in there. It's me!" He hammered on the surface frantically. "House!" he yelped, still pounding away, feeling fatigue set it.

"I can't!" House moaned from the other side, his voice thick with pain. "I'm trying, but I can't!"

* * *

(30 minutes earlier)

House shuffled into the bathroom, trying not to pay attention to the throbbing pain in his leg. As soon as he had left the oncology lounge, walking had made the pain flare, and the short walk to the bathroom had made him feel nauseous. He let the door slam shut behind him and made it half way to one of the stalls before dropping to the floor and letting out a heavy breath. He tried to keep himself from vomiting, heaving on the pain. His cane fell away when both hands automatically went to the pulsing muscle, massaging at his thigh. Letting his head drop so that his chin was resting on his chest, House knew that his attempts at pain management weren't working. He knew that he should go and get Wilson – _Jimmy will know what to do –_ but he couldn't move from his spot on the floor. He tried to disregard his full bladder, and focussed instead on how to resolve the more imminent problem of the excruciating pain he was in. A low growl escaped from his throat as an intense shock wave of pain rumbled through him, making his stomach turn. He leaned away from himself, managing to only get a small amount of vomit on his arm, while the rest spattered on the tile floor. Spitting to get the taste out of his mouth, House turned away and rolled onto his side, curling into the fetal positing and biting down on his fist.

* * *

"What do you mean you can't?" Wilson pushed harder on the door, begging God to be on his side this time.

"It won't move!" Wilson heard a thump on the other side, assuming House had given up and dropped his head on the door.

"House, you have to keep trying!" By now, their screaming had attracted a small crowd, a few doctors and one or two nurses, who were watching. "Please, just keep trying." He wasn't sure if House could hear him through the door when he only spoke, but Wilson was mildly embarrassed about shouting in front of his colleagues. One of the younger doctors, a resident who Wilson vaguely recognized, interrupted him.

"I'm going to go and get security. Maybe they'll be able to open it." He may not have known what was going on, but at least the young man had the sense to stop gawking and help. Wilson made a mental note to get the kid's name and mention him to Cuddy.

"Thank you," he said, watching the doctor walk away, and wiped at his face.

"Jimmy..." a moan from the other side caught his attention, "it hurts..."

"I know House, I know," Wilson said, leaning on the door, trying to transfer his affections through it. "Just hang on a minute, okay." Suddenly he felt anger well up inside of him, and turned to the group around him. "Look," he said, a little louder than intended, "I don't know what you're waiting for, but this isn't a damn show!" Everybody looked shocked – James Wilson was angry? – but they all scuttled off. House let out another short burst of noise, making Wilson wonder if he would be able to keep down his breakfast, and then there was another thump from the other side. "House? House?!"

"I couldn't stand up anymore." His voice sounded shaken – it was probably taking a lot from his already depleted energy to keep yelling through the door.

"Alright, House, just stay by the door. You don't have to talk to me anymore, but just stay there, okay? Help is coming."

"Okay."

Wilson leaned his forehead against the door and dropped his hands to his sides, letting one of them fall into the pocket with the methadone. He felt his fingers run over the bottle before taking the hand out of his pocket to wipe crossly at the tears gathering on his cheeks. _Everything will be fine._ "Where is security?" he muttered, turning so that his cheek was resting on the door and he could watch the elevators. One of them was coming up from the ground floor. It took a few seconds, but the doors opened, and Cuddy stepped out. Her heels clicked loudly, announcing her presence.

"I just heard," she told him, walking over to put a hand on his shoulder. "How bad is it?"

"I don't know since I _can't get in there to see him_." Wilson grunted over the lump in his throat, exasperated, but not angry at Cuddy.

"Security is on its way. There was a bit of an incident." She rubbed a small circle on Wilson's back as his shoulders slumped, tipping her head to look him in the eye. "That young man who came to get me – do you know him?"

"I have no clue who he is," he huffed, letting his sentence be interrupted by a lengthy cry from House. "He was the only one who had the humanity to help, though, instead of watching."

"I'll keep that in mind," she said, before turning at the noise of hurried footsteps. Security had bolted out of the barely open elevator, and the two men were closely followed by a harried looking Cameron. "Thank you for coming so quickly."

"You said it was priority. What's going on?" The taller of the two talked with Cuddy.

"This door won't open. There's a man inside who needs immediate medical attention." The shorter man, who was a bit burlier than his counterpart, gestured at Wilson and Cuddy to move out of his way. He rammed his shoulder heavily into the door, eliciting a high pitched yelp from the other side – he had jarred House.

"House!" Wilson yelled, remembering only a moment too late that he should warn House of what was happening. "We're trying to get the door open, move out of the way."

They heard shuffling on the other side of the door, something hitting the wall – probably House's cane – and then, "Okay, I'm out of the way!"

The husky man moved to smash the door again when his partner stopped him. "Wait! One of the hinge pins is bent. Look." Indeed, he was right. It looked as though someone had deliberately pulled one of the pins halfway out, and bent it so that the hinge would no longer work.

"What the hell?" Wilson reached out to touch the hinge, trying to make sense of what was happening. Someone had to have bent it while House was in the bathroom, because he got in alright.

"This is easily fixable. I'll call the janitor; he'll be up in five minutes and remove the pin. The door should open fine, then."

"House, just wait five more minutes, then I can get in." Wilson waited for an answer, but there wasn't one.

* * *

(20 minutes earlier)

House didn't notice when a man came into the bathroom with a set of pliers in his hands and stood at the door for a moment. He was still curled on the floor in pain, moaning. But the man noticed House. He leered and bent the pin on the inside hinged and went outside to make sure it would be a while before House would be getting out.

* * *

"House? House?! Can you hear me?" Wilson let his head fall against the wall and felt Cameron's hands on his shoulders.

"Dr. Wilson, he's probably just resting. He's probably exhausted." Her hands gently moved over his tense muscles, "we'll get to him soon."

Wilson nodded before backing away from the door. He watched the security guards walking away – they were going to meet the janitor downstairs . "Who would do this to someone so helpless?"

Cuddy frowned at him, leaning her hip on the wall. "I don't know, James."

Once the pliers arrived, it didn't take long to remove the pin. "But this has a double swing hinge," said the confused janitor, pulling out the pin, "one bent pin should have just stopped it from coming this way." When they opened the door, they found that the pin inside had been bent, too.

"This means," said Cuddy, "that someone came in here, bent the pin, and then went outside to do it?"

"Yup," side the janitor, replacing both of the mutilated pins with new, straight ones.

Wilson hurried over to House, who was leaning against the wall, unmoving, as soon as the door had opened. "He unconscious," he whispered nervously to Cameron, who had followed him. "His pulse and breathing are fine..." he told her, checking House's vitals tensely before reaching into his pocket for the medication.

"He's fine," she said, squatting down next to them, "he passed out from the pain. His body will be in shock, but he's fine." Wilson put his shaking hand on House's chin, opening his mouth, and tipped his friend's head back. He almost spilled the liquid as he lifted the dose to administer it. "Here," Cameron stopped him, "why don't you let me?"

Wilson let himself drop next to House, wiping off the small amount of liquid that dribbled into the stubble, and leaned against the unmoving form. "Come on, wake up..."

* * *

(10 minutes earlier)

House managed to force himself out of his curled position on the floor, and urged himself to the door, breathing heavily with the effort it took just to move the short distance. He leaned his head weakly against the door, knowing that if he didn't get Wilson, the pain would just get worse. But the door wouldn't open. He pushed a little harder before giving up and letting his body slump by the entrance to the bathroom.

* * *

It took about 5 minutes, but House eventually woke, stuttering and whimpering in pain. "It's your leg, right?" Wilson asked him, receiving a dumb nod in response. His hands automatically moved to House's thigh, massaging the muscle that was still in spasm, trying to relieve some of the pain. He looked up at Cuddy, "I don't think the methadone will do it this time. This is his first time since Mayfield experiencing breakthrough pain. Can you get me some morphine?" She nodded, watching as his hands deftly moved over House's pant leg.

"I'll be right back."

Wilson turned back to House, who had fisted one hand in the white lab coat and was watching through heavily lidded eyes. "I gave you your medicine, but I don't think it was enough. Dr. Cuddy is going to bring some morphine, okay?"

House let his forehead drop onto Wilson's curled shoulders. "Jimmy, why does it hurt so much?"


	27. איר זענט נישט א לרייט

Title: איר זענט נישט אָלרייט  
Rating: R (I don't want to spoil anything, but there's copulation...and it's between two men)  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of them. :(  
A/N: So, I know it's been a long time since I updated (at least for me...) but I've been so busy. I'm sorry I made you guys wait for so long, but I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Wilson wheeled House out to the car with Cameron in tow – Cuddy had been called to an emergency – and helped him into the front seat, pushing it back as far as it could go, so that House's leg could stretch out. "Are you sure you guys will be okay?" Cameron asked, taking the wheelchair from Wilson.

"Yeah, we should be fine. I'm just going to get him to rest when we get home." He was leaning against the open door frame, and House tucked his hand in Wilson's pocket.

"Make sure you call me if you need anything, okay?" It was difficult for her, but Cameron tried not sound too worried.

"Will do," Wilson said, gently tugging House's fingers out of his pocket and dropping them on the man's lap. He turned to House and smiled at him before shutting the car door. "Thanks again," he said as he walked around the car, not really looking at Cameron. She walked onto the sidewalk and watched them back out of the parking lot before shaking her head and going back inside the hospital.

* * *

"Just rest, House. Just lay here and read this book until you fall asleep, okay?"

"I don't understand why I can't watch TV." House whined from under the covers of Wilson's bed. He had been tucked in 3 times already, much to his chagrin, and Wilson was getting frustrated with his constant efforts to evade sleep.

"Because, you need to go to sleep. TV keeps you up."

"No it doesn't," he barked, looking out the window.

Wilson sat down on the side of the bed and ran his hand through House's hair. It had grown a lot in the last few months – he hadn't taken House for a hair cut since he had come home from Mayfield with the "close-to-a-buzz-cut" look – and Wilson found himself avoiding the barber's. He like the way the longer curls of hair twisted around his fingers. "What's going on, here? You're usually so cooperative, and then suddenly today it seems all you want to do is argue."

"I just want to watch TV." House continued to pointedly look anywhere but at Wilson.

"You like reading, too, though," Wilson said, sticking a finger under House's chin and tenderly turning his head back to make eye contact. "Are you mad at me?"

"No."

"Because I would understand if you were. I made a mistake. I should have been monitoring the time more closely. All the pain you were in today was my fault."

"You didn't lock me in the bathroom." House's chin was quivering.

"Okay, it wasn't all my fault, but..." Wilson bumped his hip against House's so that the man would make room for him. He got on the bed and leaned against the headboard, wrapping an arm around House's shoulders, "but most of it was. I feel really terrible. I would be mad at me if I was in your position."

"I'm _not _mad at you, okay?"

"Well then what is it House?" he was finding it difficult to be calm. He ripped his arm away from House and leaned forward, "Why are you so snarky all of a sudden?"

"I don't know," he finally admitted, turning to look at Wilson, tears running down his face. "I don't know why." He tilted forward, letting his head fall onto Wilson's chest. "I'll read a book, okay? I'll be good from now on. I promise."

Wilson ran a hand up and down House's back before pushing him away. He dipped his head to kiss him quickly, but one of House's hands went to the back of Wilson's head, stopping him from pulling away. After a few seconds, Wilson let the kiss deepen, allowed House's probing tongue access to his mouth by parting his lips slightly. He felt the hand on the back of his neck tangle in his hair and moaned softly, adjusting his hips so that he was facing House. He ran his hand over House's arms and moaned softly, pressing in so that his nose was jammed against House's cheek, heat making his entire body tingle. Wilson felt the familiar heat building in his stomach and pulled away for a breath. "What are we-" But House cut him off when he covered his mouth.

"Just this once, can't we do what we do in my dreams?"

"I don't kn-" the heat in his stomach was joined by the sensation that his stomach wasn't there anymore. Not only was he anxious about sleeping with House in his current mental state, but his leg would probably hurt.

"Please?" House kissed him again, this time on the neck, sucking a little on the skin there, letting his teeth graze tantalizingly at the sensitive skin.

"But your leg..."

"It's fine," House said, getting out from the covers and kneeling by Wilson to prove his point, letting his kisses trail lower, going near Wilson's collar.

"House, I-"

"Just this once, okay?" He put his hand on Wilson thigh, and Wilson felt his body jolt, heat rushed to his groin, and suddenly his pants were too tight – anything House wanted he would give. There was no turning back now.

"Just this once," his voice was breathy, low. _Please forgive me. _He shifted his hips so that House's hand was closer to his crotch, let his hands dance over House's chest and grasped House's t-shirt, tugging on it. House got the message and stopped sucking on his collar bone, moved back so that Wilson could rend the garment from his body. As Wilson tossed the shirt to the side, House pressed against his body, kissing him again, arching his back when nails scratched across his nipples.

_Oh God, House._ Wilson was afraid to open his mouth, instead ran his hand over House's hard cock while his shirt was unbuttoned, longed for the forgotten sensation of House's body on top of his. All of a sudden, touching wasn't enough. He wanted House in him. It had been so long and he felt so _lonely_. He reached up to help House with his shirt to find it was already being tugged from his pliant arms. "Are you sure this is okay?" It was so difficult to force the words from his mouth. House nodded, grinning beautifully, his eyes sparkling. He shifted his hips forward and let Wilson grasp the waistband of the pyjama pants. They were tugged down quickly before he rolled to lay on his back and let them slide the rest of the way off. "Your turn," he whispered, reaching for Wilson's belt. Wilson's pants were off quickly, and before he knew it, House was crouching over him, running a hand over his chest, purring lightly.

"Show me what I did in your dream," Wilson's words came out thick and heavy now, he was used to his hands doing the talking when House had sex with him. House's hand wrapped around one of his and directed it to his erection, letting him decide a rhythm.

"That," he groaned, plunging down for another kiss, planting feather light pecks on Wilson's skin, leaving a burning trail of scorched skin behind. He canted his hips into Wilson's palm before grunting.

"Your leg?" Wilson asked through constricted vocal chords. House nodded, closing his eyes. In a flash, Wilson had them rolled over, their positions switched. "It was like this in your dream, right?" House nodded again. It was okay, if House couldn't be _in him_, at least he could be _in House_. Either way, it would be a welcome treat. He reached over to the nightstand drawer and slid it open, letting his body drape over House's, their skin hot and slick, pressed together. The lube had been pushed all the way to the back, he hadn't expected to need it again – not here –but he eventually found it and pulled it out, snapping the top open and pouring some on his fingers.

"This might feel weird," he warned House, lifting up the man's left leg and resting in his own thigh to get better access.

"No, it's okay, I know what you're going to do." House nodded before reaching out to brush Wilson's arm. "I want you to do it." Wilson pushed a finger inside of House, found him tighter than he had expected and looked at his lover's face, waiting to add a second finger. House grinned and pressed down on the digit, gyrating his hips ever so slowly. "I'm waiting." Wilson added a second finger and scissored his fingers slightly, seeing House's mouth open in a gaping "oh", and found he couldn't wait anymore – condom be damned.

He pulled his fingers out, and put both hands on House's hips. "Stop me if I hurt you." He wasn't sure if he would be able to stop.

"You won't," House assured him, wriggling his body in anticipation.

Wilson slipped in and was pure bliss – better than he remembered. He glanced down at House, who had his jaw slightly set, but with blue eyes still glimmering in the darkened room, looked like he was enjoying himself. House's hands found his own erection and stroked up in down, giving Wilson a pace to follow. Since had been such a long time, it didn't take Wilson long to finish. His body seized, he gripped on House's hips (maybe a little too hard) and shuddered, letting himself tip over the other man's body. Just as his cheek made contact with House's chest, he felt House come on his stomach.

Wilson turned his head up to receive a kiss from a waiting House and smiled at him. "Was that like your dream?"

"No," House whispered, shaking his head and wiping sweaty hair off of Wilson's face, "it was better."

The phone rang. "No...." Wilson groaned. But he knew he shouldn't leave it. He slipped out of House gently and twisted to reach for the cordless on the nightstand. He answered it on the last ring. "Hello?"

"_It's Cameron. I just wanted to check on you guys. Are you okay?"_

"Yeah," Wilson sighed as House's hands skittered over his body, "we're great." House kissed the side of his face, let his tongue slip out a little to tease the skin.

"_Oh, okay. That's good. Well, have a good night. I'll see you tomorrow at work_."

"Sure," Wilson muttered, trying not to squeal while House tickled his ribcage. _But how does he remember that?_

"_Have a good night. And wish House a good night, from me, too."_

_"_Okay," he told her, biting at his lower lip, "you too." He dropped the phone on the floor and leaned over to kiss House again. "I love you so much," he said, adjusting so that they were side by side, his arm draped across House's chest.

"I love you, too, Jimmy."

* * *

"I slept with him."

"You what?"

"That's right. I slept with him. I fucked him. I...I can't believe it. Immediately after, I couldn't believe I did it. I shouldn't be able to watch him anymore."

"Yeah," Cuddy snapped, throwing her hands up and getting off the couch, "because someone else is going to watch him."

Wilson had woken up that morning, his arms still around House, crusted evidence of the night before on his abdomen, and felt panic and guilt bubbling in his gut. He had showered and washed the bedding before leaving for work, but he couldn't get the images out of his mind. He didn't know what was worse: the guilt he felt when remembering the night before, or the enjoyment he got out of remembering the night before. He had taken a quick shower before shoving a half asleep House under the water and rushing to the hospital – he knew Cuddy would be there and she was the only one he felt he could tell. _Cameron would castrate me._

"You guys had a relationship before, didn't you?" Cuddy asked, looking at the slumbering House on her couch.

"Yes...I mean, how did you know?"

"I saw you kissing in the parking garage once. It doesn't matter. The point is, this wasn't a first time thing, right?" She was trying to rationalize. _I've already been through this._

"But that was...before. Before Mayfield." _Before he changed._

"Well, was he upset? Traumatized?"

"No," Wilson shook his head, blushed, swallowed, "he instigated it."

"Well, then, get over it. He obviously doesn't mind."

"What – are you crazy? This was like...statutory rape."

"No it wasn't." She replied curtly, taking a file out of her inbox, "stop being an idiot. You said he instigated it, he wanted it, he knew what he was getting into."

"That's besides the – Wait, what did you say?"

"Stop being an idiot?" She was flipping through the file, not looking up anymore.

"No, not that. He knew what he was getting into. Did he tell you about his dreams?"

"What dreams?"

"I didn't tell you about his dreams, he didn't tell you about his dreams," Wilson was pacing. "So how would you know that he _knew what he was getting into_?"

"I...don't know. I just assumed if he started it..." But she was stuttering, she didn't seem as confident.

"No, you were speculating that he had memories from before. But he hasn't had any strong leaps in memory that I've told you about recently, so why would you think that? What's going on? Did you do something to him behind my back?"

"No," she dropped the file and looked at him. "Not behind your back."

"What? What did you do to him?" He was pacing faster now, trying to remember any treatment House had undergone of late.

"You can't be mad. I was just trying to help. And it seems like if may have worked – if just a little."

"What _did you do?_" he stopped pacing, put his hands on her desk and leaned over ominously close, gritting his teeth.

"Taub came to me. He said that he felt awful about House. Had heard through the grapevine about how therapy was bringing about poor results. He said he read about some research being done Los Alamitos institute about pain and memory renewal."

"Pain?"

"Extreme pain. To the point of putting the patient into cardiac arrest."

"Why would you...?"

"Apparently in some cases, the deprivation of oxygen can have a reverse effect, help bring back lost memories."

"But when would you...The bathroom. Oh my God. That was you?"

"No, I didn't do that. I wanted to talk to you first," she stood up, walked around the desk to put a hand on Wilson's, which was shaking, but he pulled away sharply. "Taub didn't think you would go for it, said we should trick you. That was the day you brought House here. Taub happened to be in the same bathroom and decided to take action. He locked House in, hoping the lack of medicine would last long enough and be enough to trigger something. But House just passed out, he didn't go into cardiac arrest."

"How horrible," Wilson felt like he might vomit.

"Wilson, we were just trying to help. And it seems like House remembered something."

"No he didn't!" Wilson found himself yelling, and noticed House stirring out of the corner of his eye. "He had a God damn dream! Months ago! This had nothing to do with your little experiment!" He was mad, his throat was raw from bellowing, he wanted to punch something, somebody. House was sitting up on the couch now, watching the exchange between the two of them.

"Please, James, I didn't want it to happen this way. I think it was wrong, too. I'm just as angry as you are. But Taub...he was really just trying to help."

"I'm sure," Wilson said, walking over to take House's hand. He picked up the blanket that had been draped over the man. "Well, I hope you're both happy. Instead of healing something, you just made it hurt more."

"I didn't-"

"Stop making excuses," he said, walking to the door, House following slowly, "you were a part of this, too." And was Wilson left the room, he knew he was over reacting, but his blood was boiling, and if he got fired for, well, at least it was all for House.


	28. Smile, Though Your Heart is Breaking

Title: Smile, Though Your Heart is Breaking  
Rating: G  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Blah. Blah. Blah.  
A/N: I know, I know. It's short. Hopefully the next one will be longer.

* * *

"So did you have something specific you wanted to talk about today?" Dr. Buroughs sat behind her desk, leaning back slightly in her chair, and looked curiously from House to Wilson.

Wilson cleared his throat and glanced nervously at House, "Yeah, I do. And I know that House will want to talk about it, too, once we get going."

House turned to look at Wilson, "What are we talking about?"

"You remember the other night, when you couldn't sleep?"House nodded solemnly and reached across the gap between the chairs, fumbled with Wilson's hand so that he was grasping it. "A lot of things have happened since we met with you last, Dr. Buroughs. I guess I'll start at the beginning..." Wilson glanced at House, who opened his mouth momentarily before nodding at Wilson to continue. "Well, House went on a trip last week. You know we hired a day sitter?" Dr. Buroughs bobbed her head in a quick nod encouraging Wilson to carry on. "She and House were pretty tired from going to the zoo, so they were both napping. House ended up sleep walking and went to a bar. He was given a few drinks, then taken to a house party, where he was given more alcohol. That triggered seizures when it mixed with the methadone in his system. He was hospitalized."

Dr. Buroughs frowned, "I would have hoped that if something like this happened, you would have called me and let me know as soon as possible."

"I honestly didn't think to contact you." Wilson looked at the pattern on the carpet abashedly. "But I'm worried it will happen again – I know the day sitter is worried, too. And I bet you are, as well, aren't you, House?"

"Yes." His voice was clipped, his answer short. He wasn't making eye contact with anyone in the room, but his warm grasp tethered him to the conversation through Wilson.

"I think that's a concern we should definitely talk about," Dr. Buroughs said, recording something on her steno-notepad. "But why don't you finish telling me about what happened?"

"Well, the sitter needed some alone time after the sleep walking, understandably. So I took House to work with me. He went to the bathroom and ended up getting locked in. I hadn't given him his dose of medication in time and he ended up experiencing some extreme pain...we went home and...oh Jesus," Wilson used his free hand to rub his face. "We had sex."

"That's a definite step." Her voice didn't falter, but Wilson couldn't bring himself to look at her. His face and neck were burning, but he felt House's thumb paint strokes over the sensitive skin on the back of his hand. "I know you two have been working forward to that intimacy for a while – if I'm not mistaken." Wilson heard her pen tap on the desk and finally forced himself to look at her face.

"I feel like it was a mistake." House's hand dropped from his – the lack of physical contact made his entire body feel frozen. "I feel like I was supposed to be the responsible adult and care for him. I feel like I stepped over a boundary."

"I believe that House knew what he was getting himself into," she said, looking to House for conformation.

In response, House's mouth opened and closed, as though he was groping for an answer. "I...I started it," he finally told her.

"Yes, but House," Wilson turned in his chair, suddenly extremely agitated, "I let it continue. I should have stopped you. I shouldn't have...I shouldn't have done what I did. I didn't just let it happen, I..." he swallowed thickly and reached out to touch House's arm, "I did it."

House pulled away from him, "Stop it!" he shouted. "Stop saying this is your fault!" When Wilson tried to reach out again, House batted his hand away. "I knew what we were doing!" his voice was raw and broken, Wilson could tell he was about to cry, "All those dreams I had! I knew! I knew what was going to happen, and I wanted it to! You don't think you're the only one who misses the way things used to be, do you? I know! I know that I'm...different!" House turned to look out the window and swiped at his eyes, swallowed the burning lump in his throat. "I knew what we were doing. I wanted it. Just stop...please stop...stop being upset about it. Stop feeling _guilty._ Because it hurts my feelings."

Wilson shook his head, looked to Dr. Buroughs for guidance, "I didn't know. I'm sorry." House finally let the hand touch his arm and turned to look at Wilson.

"Okay." His hand covered the one that was touching him.

"Well," Dr. Buroughs interrupted them, "I think you guys figured that one out on your own...why don't we talk about dosage and the sleep walking? Have you considered any precautions you might take to keep those things from happening again?"

"We haven't really discussed anything, no." Wilson looked at her. "Did you have something in mind?"

She dropped the notepad and put her hands together, leaning her chin on them. "I've got some ideas, yes."

* * *

The lock smith had all together ignored House while he was installing the new lock on the door. Wilson had figured that he could probably do it himself, but he wasn't sure, and figured it would be best not to take any chances. The man installing the key lock on the inside of the bedroom door probably thought they had some kinky fetish. Wilson had wanted to get it installed on the inside of the main door to the apartment, but that violated building codes, so he had to resort to the inside of the bedroom door. It broke his heart, imagining locking House in – but there was nothing for it. This was the only way that he could see to keep House safe, and he knew it would only be used when they were both sleeping, otherwise, he could just keep an eye on House.

When they had come to decision to put the lock on the door, House's eyes had widened with horror, he asked if there was any other way. "No," Wilson said sadly hugging him to his chest, "I'm sorry. I'll make it as easy on you as I can."

There were two keys to the door – one went onto Wilson key chain and the other was delivered directly to 13. The outside of the bedroom locked with a simple dead-bolt turn lock, but the inside needed a key to be opened, a key that House wasn't going to get his hands on. It had been the last option Wilson wanted to talk about, but in the end, he knew – they both knew – it was the _only _option to preserve House's safety. That didn't mean either of them liked it any more.

The silver lining was that they put the lock on Wilson's bedroom door. This meant, that for House, there would be no more nightmares while he was all alone, no more lonely night spent tossing and turning. Every night was a Wilson night now, and he didn't say anything, but it made his stomach bubble with happiness at the thought. His old room would be turned back into a study/guest room.

As far as the medication problem went, they had both gotten new watches, synchronised them, and set the alarms to go off every 4 hours, to ensure that House got his medication on time. Hopefully, this would stave off any more pain catastrophes. After all the steps they took, Wilson's job was to call 13 and tell her it was safe. She could come back again. It was hard for him to give up his days with House again, especially after he had just gotten the man back for a short while, but he knew that he couldn't keep taking someone so dependent to work with him.

At least Wilson had Wednesday to look forward to. He had talked Cuddy into letting him take the day off for the meeting with Nolan.


	29. Conto

Title: Conto  
Rating:G  
Disclaimer: NOT MINE! I know it, you know it, we all know it.

* * *

"Dr. Nolan will be in shortly. Please, have a seat." A young woman in scrubs gestured to the three armchairs in the center of the room, all facing inwards, around a coffee table. "Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?"

"I'll have a coffee please." Wilson paused and waited for House to answer the woman, when no reply came, he turned to his friend. "You want something House?" Wilson asked as he took House's coat from him. House shook his head. "Then say no thank you."

"No thank you," House told the floor.

"I'll be right back with that coffee," she smiled genially at Wilson before closing the door quietly behind her.

"What is up with you today, House? I'm not used to having to remind you to be polite"

"Nothing's up with me today," he said quietly, sitting down on one of the armchairs.

"Could you at least-" Wilson stopped talking when the nurse let herself into the room, a coffee in her hand. He nodded and thanked her. As the door was closing, he resumed, "Could you at least act courteously when Nolan comes in?"

"I don't know what you mean." House frowned at Wilson.

"Don't make me remind you of your manners again, okay?"

The door to the office opened and Nolan walked in. "Dr. Wilson, Greg, it's nice to see you both here, finally. I've been looking forward to this meeting for a long time." He sat down in the last empty chair and beamed at them. "Sorry I was late. I was a little held up – you know how things get sometimes."

"Please, don't worry," Wilson told him. "We only just got here."

"I see my assistant got you some coffee. Did you not want anything, Greg?" Nolan looked at House, but received no response. House stared blankly at him. "Greg?" Nolan leaned forward in his chair.

"House!" Wilson snapped, and House turned to look at him inquisitively. "Dr. Nolan is asking you a question."

"It's okay," Dr. Nolan put his hand up to calm Wilson. "Do you not like being called Greg?"

"No. I don't."

"Why is that?"

"Because."

" 'Because' is not an answer that tells me very much, House. Do you think you could elaborate for me?"

House turned to Wilson, who was picking at the plastic lid on his coffee. "Jimmy?"

"Mmm?"

"What does _elaborate _mean?"

"To give more information. Tell him more than just 'because'."

"I don't want to," House told the air.

"Why not, House? Are there bad memories attached to that name?"

"Not really," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "It's what my mom and dad called me."

"So why can't I call you that?"

"No one else calls me Greg."

"Okay..." Nolan sighed and leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. "So, do you want to tell me about your new doctor? I used to be your doctor, you know. I miss talking to you. You were a very good friend of mine."

"Her name is Dr. Burroughs."

"Mhm. I spoke to her on the phone."

"She and Jimmy don't always get along. Sometimes he gets mad at her."

"Why is that?"

"I think he thinks she wants to change me."

"And you think he doesn't want you to change?"

"I think_ he_ wants to change me."


	30. In a Very Unusual Way

Title: In a Very Unusual Way  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: Not mine!  
A/N: Thank you to all of those who stuck with me through my hiatus. Your loyalty inspired me to get my butt in gear and get writing. Lots of love to you all!

* * *

With House's progress moving along the way it was Wilson really hated to leave him. But there was an ex-patient of his who was in the Northwest Territories of Canada. He was grievously ill, suffering from a relapse of pancreatic cancer, and unable to move him his doctors had no choice but to treat him in the hospital where he currently resided. He had requested that Wilson fly up to care for him, and Wilson, ever the giver, found it impossible to refuse the man's dying appeal. However, to complicate matter, Chase and Cameron had recently left for a vacation and could not watch House. 13 was sick with the flu, and Cuddy said she could watch him, but only for two days, because she had a conference to go to. And to be honest, Wilson wasn't sure if he was ready to forgive her for the whole bathroom fiasco yet. That left...Foreman.

Wilson didn't want to call him – he didn't want to burden Foreman with this when he could tell the entire situation made Foreman uncomfortable. He had never tried to "get to know" House after the incident –instead he kept a constant distance and often was paged out of the room just as House entered it. But Wilson didn't know who else to call – he knew he couldn't take House with him, and he didn't want to put him in a temporary home. He figured Nolan might watch him, but he didn't know Nolan very well, and last time he had trusted the man with House's well being...House had come home a very different person.

Wilson resigned himself to ask Foreman first, and if that fell through, then he could call Nolan. Neither option was very satisfactory, but he was running out of choices and time wasn't on his side. He needed to leave as soon as possible. While House napped on the couch, Wilson apprehensively dialled Foreman's number. He almost hung up two times while it was ringing, but heard a voice on the other end before he could drop the receiver.

_"Hello?"_

_"Hey, Foreman, it's Wilson. I...need to ask you a big favour."_

_"You want me to watch House while you're gone?"_

_"I was – What? Yeah, how'd you know?"_

_"I overheard you talking to Cuddy the other day. Figured you'd only call me if you were down to your last option."_

_"Oh...so, will you...?"_

_"Yeah. Sure. Should I come over there?"_

_"That's probably best."_

_"Alright – when does your flight leave?"_

_"Tomorrow at 10 pm."_

_"I'll come over around 8?"_

_"Thanks. Thank you."_

_"Yeah."_

_"Foreman?"_

_"Yeah?"_

_"I mean it. Thank you."_

_"Okay, see you tomorrow."_

Wilson hung up the phone and turned to look at House, snoring lightly and drooling on the McGill sweatshirt that was curled into a ball under his head. He got up from the table and walked over, perching himself on the edge of the coffee table so that he was facing House. He reached out a hand and grazed lightly at the stubble on House's cheek. "Hey in there," he whispered, hunching over so that he was eye to eye with House as the slumbering man's eyelids split open. "Having a good nap?"

"Mmmm," House lifted his arms from his sides, rubbing the heels of his palms against his still half shut eyes. "Yup." He leaned forward so that his head was resting on Wilson's knee. "Where are you going?"

"So you overheard the conversation then?"

House nodded gently, the movement more pronounced against Wilson leg. "Yes. I know you told me I'm supposed to eavesdrop, but I couldn't...help it."

"It's okay," Wilson ran a hand through House's hair, "this time, since it had to do with you. I'm going to Canada. I need to go help an old patient of mine."

"Jimmy?" House rolled his head to the side so that he was looking at Wilson through one eye.

"Mhm?"

"Do any of my old patients ever ask for me?"

Wilson knew that lying to him couldn't hurt anything. "All the time – they miss you."

House smiled before leaning back on the couch. "How long will you be gone for?"

"I'm not sure. It depends on when my patient..." _dies_ "gets better."

"Oh. Okay." House pushed himself off the sofa and started looking around the floor for his cane. "Like, more than a week, you think?"

"I hope not," Wilson watched House search, even though he saw the cane in the corner of the room. He liked to think that doing small things like this by himself gave House a sense of independence, albeit a minute one.

"Okay." House spotted it and hobbled over, wrapping his hand, almost lovingly, around the handle of the cane.

"Did you want to do something tonight? It's my last night in town."

"What were you thinking of?" House tugged his t-shirt out of the back of his pants where it had been awkwardly tucked in.

"I don't know. We could go for a walk, we could go see a movie, we could play a game or just hang out here if you want. Did you want to play the piano, maybe, while I cook us a special dinner?"

"I like the last choice."

"Only because it means you don't have to shower."

"Hey!" House knew a jab when he heard one. He smiled at Wilson and sauntered over to him, bent at the waist and kissed him quickly.

House still hadn't had any piano lessons, so the music was slow and broken, but it was music, from his finger tips. Wilson found himself looking forward to a future where he might still be cutting up peppers and House would be playing more music. Things would never be the same, but the last few months had gotten them far enough down the tunnel – Wilson could see a light now.

Lost in his reverie, Wilson didn't notice the long pause in the music. He didn't hear the "thump-step" gait approaching and growing louder. He didn't even feel the presence of his friend until a heady breath sent a chill down his spine. He spun around, dropping the knife on the counter as he did so. "H...House..." his voice caught in his throat. House's eyes were a scalding blue, his face was flushed, he was staring at Wilson. "Wh-What did you need?"

House's free hand wrapped around a bicep, he dipped his head and let his tongue flick out to press lightly by the shell that was Wilson's ear. "I was thinking," he said in a thick, husky voice, "that we could pretend this is one of my dreams. Since you're leaving, and you don't know how long you'll be gone."

Wilson needed little encouragement. His hands, slick from cutting vegetables, were instantly on the button of House's jeans, sliding over the denim, fumbling to undo the button. He felt like he was a virgin in high school again. He was shaking, burning up, embarrassed at his scrabbling, and loving every second of it. He turned his chin up and received a deep kiss as House pushed him towards the counter, heard the smash of the cane falling on the floor. Wilson reached behind him and pushed knife and veggies into the sink – so much for a healthy dinner. He pushed himself up with his hands so that he was sitting on the counter and spread his legs, letting House's hips fall between them and press against his arousal. "This won't be good for your leg," he huffed into House's neck as hands grappled with his t-shirt.

"Bedroom?"

Wilson pushed his groin against House's and purred in assent. "Bedroom." He slid off the counter and pulled a limping House behind him. In the bedroom, Wilson slammed the door and pulled House on top of him, before rolling over so that House was beneath him. "In your dreams," he asked, slowly undoing House's zipper, "were you ever inside me?"

"What?"

"Last time we did this, I was _inside of you_."

"Oh..." House smiled widely, "Yes, I was. And I liked it." He pushed his hands into Wilson's pants and grabbed at the flesh.

_Clothes. Off. Now._

* * *

_So much for dinner_, thought Wilson. House's naked and sleeping form was draped across Wilson's body. Both of them were sated and glowing, but House's unconscious state kept him from feeling the hunger that gnawed at Wilson's stomach. Finally, around midnight, Wilson decided he couldn't put it off. He slid his sticky body out from under House, and pulled on a pair of underpants. _Are these mine?_ He would find something quick to eat and be back in 15 minutes, House would never know he was gone.

He remembered to lock the bedroom door behind him and tiptoed into the kitchen. All the lights were still on, Wilson was just glad they hadn't left any candles burning. He grabbed a sandwich – supposed to be for his lunch tomorrow – and some crackers. Upon doing so, he decided that he would just eat in the bedroom, he was pretty tired anyways. He let himself in, put the food on the nightstand and dug in his pants pocket for the key to the door. Frowning, he locked it, and dropped the key on his pants. He settled next to House, letting his leg brush up against the man's curved back.

"Mmm...Jimmy."


	31. Grá gan chealg

Title: Grá gan chealg  
Rating: PG (fowl language)  
Disclaimer: These aren't mine!

* * *

House had tried to behave in Wilson's absence, and for the first few days, he had done a bang on job of it. He did as Foreman told him, was quiet when he was supposed to be, ate what was put in front of him, and made sure that he didn't cry very loud at night. But after a week, he was starting to miss Wilson a little more than even _he _had anticipated. He missed having someone in the same bed to chase away the nightmares, he missed the way Wilson held his hand where ever they went, he missed the way Wilson kissed him good morning, but only after he had brushed his teeth. He just plain missed his Jimmy.

One afternoon, Foreman handed him the phone, and frowning, said "It's Jimmy."

House quickly snatched the phone away and limped into his bedroom. "Jimmy?"

_"Yeah, it's me. How are you?"_

"I miss you. I want you to come home."

_"I know. I want to come home, too. I miss you a lot."_

"Foreman's not mean, but I want you to be here."

"_I want to be there, too. But there's a really terrible storm here right now, my plane can't leave yet."_

"Your patient is better?"

_"No, House. He died."_

"I'm sorry." House sat down on the bed and snatched up one of Wilson's t-shirts.

****_"Here, you can have this to sleep with while I'm gone. I haven't washed it yet, so it still smells like me." Wilson handed House a worn, grey t-shirt, one of his "lounging around the house" shirts._

_House grabbed it from him, and smiling, hugged it to his chest. "Thank you."****_

_"Me too," _Wilson said. _"But I'll be home as soon as I can, okay."_

"Okay. I miss you."

"_I know. Just be patient."_

"I will. Love you."

_"I love you, too."_

Wilson hung up and House dropped the phone onto the pillow, before curling around the t-shirt gripped in his fists.

* * *

It was a week after that when Foreman came home from a quick trip to the grocery store to find House in the bathroom, clothes still on, sitting the shower getting drenched. "What the hell are you doing?" Foreman asked, turning off the water and getting his arm drenched in the process.

"I miss Jimmy!" House's fists moved to his head, pressing against his temples.

"So you decided to take a shower in your clothes? Stop being an idiot and get out of the shower." Foreman held out a hand, willing House to take it.

"I'm cold!"

"That's your fault," Foreman insisted, "You were a damn fool and took a shower in your clothing. Where's the logic in that, huh?" He shook his hand. "Come on, get up. We'll get you in something dry."

"I WANT JIMMY!"

"Yeah, I'd like him to come back, too. So I wouldn't have to deal with your bull shit anymore. But we can't always get what we want. Now will you just get out of the damn shower?"

House fists moved to his eyes, where he tried to stop the flow of tears.

Foreman sighed and put a hand on House's shoulder. "Look, I know you're upset, and I know you miss him. I'm sorry I yelled. I just want to get you dry. Then you can call him on the phone and see when he'll be home, okay?"

House pulled his shoulder away from Foreman, hitting his other shoulder on the wall of the tub. He whimpered, and curled into a tighter ball.

Foreman dropped down to squat on the floor so that his face was level with House's. "Look, I don't know what you want me to do. I'm at a loss here. I can't _get _Jimmy here. He has to wait until the weather is better, and his plane can leave. He's going to be here as soon as he can be, okay?"

House sniffed, and nodded, but still remained curled in a ball.

"You gonna get up, so you can change?"

"Mhm."

Foreman stood up and reached out a hand, let House grasp it. In a moment, time stood still. House's sock clad foot slipped on a bar of soap that he had knocked to the floor of the tub. He flew backward, one hand grabbing Foreman's shirt, the other slipping on wet tile. Foreman grabbed onto the shower curtain, trying to stop the imminent fall. But House's head curled back and smacked the tub faucet with a sickening thunk before his body slid to the fill the tub. Foreman almost landed on top of House, hitting his jaw on the soap holder. The shower curtain rod fell to the floor with a clatter.

Foreman got up, mouth dribbling blood, when he was the deluge of red liquid coming from behind House's head. The fallen man's eyes were closed, his breathing slow and thready. "Shit!" Foreman grabbed House's shoulders and shook him lightly. "House?" He leaned down, tried to find a pulse in his twisted arm. "HOUSE?!" No answer.

* * *

Foreman's leg jiggled anxiously as the inept nurse finished cleaning the gash on his arm – he hadn't even noticed it until the EMS had pointed it out to him – he needed to check on House and then call Wilson. Jesus, Wilson was going to kill him. Cameron's replacement walked by, in a hurry. "Hey! Hey!" Foreman stood up, brushing off the nurse, who huffed angrily at him. "Hey," Foreman finally caught up to the other doctor. "You checked Gregory House in, right?"

"I did, Dr. Foreman," the younger male doctor said, taking a chart from a pile.

"How is he?"

"I'm sorry to say he's in a coma."

"What?" Foreman's brain took a moment to take in the information. "I...I need to see him."

"Until you stop bleeding everywhere," the doctor pointed to the red puddle growing by their feet, "You're not going anywhere. Let one of the doctors stitch you up, and I'll take you to him."

* * *

House was hooked up to multiple monitors, a constant beeping filled his room. It had been three days since he had been admitted to hospital, and Cameron and Chase had flown back to Princeton immediately upon hearing the news from Foreman, who had called them right after letting Wilson know what had happened. Wilson was still stuck in a storm, but called the hospital every hour to check on House, and had given Cameron express orders to call if anything changed.

At this very moment, beeping was the only sound in the hospital room, other than a light snoring coming from Cameron, who had curled up in a chair. Chase was getting coffee, and Foreman had gone home to shower and sleep in his own bed for a change. Cameron's cell phone vibrated in her pocket, but it wasn't enough to wake her from her slumber. Chase, downstairs in the cafeteria, did feel it when _his _pocket vibrated, though. He set two Styrofoam cups on a counter and slid the cell open. "Hello?"

_"Is everything okay? Cameron didn't answer her phone."_

"Everything's fine, she's just sleeping."

_"The storm is over. I'll be there in 12 hours. Text me if there's any change. I'm just boarding the plane now."_

"Will do."

* * *

Wilson hated flying. He hated it even more when he had somewhere to be.

* * *

Wilson had taken up Cameron's place in House's room immediately upon arrival. He only got up to use the toilet, he never left. His hand constantly gripped House's, when one arm fell asleep, he swapped to the other hand.

One night, neck stiff from sleeping on the chair for so long, he climbed onto the bed and wrapped his arms around House, shoving his nose into his friend's neck. He found it hard to sleep, but finally drifted off.

_Why was his teddy bear moving? Teddies don't move..._

Wilson didn't want to wake up, everything was blissful and quiet, safe in the land of dreams. But the body next to him kept adjusting, moving around. He eventually opened his eyes, just so he could see the face of the person he was going to tell off. Blinking, he was eventually greeted with brilliant blue orbs.

"What the hell is going on Wilson?"

_~fin~_


End file.
